


Samwell Men's Sledge Hockey

by orphan_account



Series: Sledge Hockey [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Anxiety, Disabled Characters, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Samwell Men's Sledge Hockey, Slow Burn, Trans Jack, checking practise, post university, service dog, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-11-28 09:49:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11415375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Eric Bittle gets the invite to not only join a sledge hockey team, but to live with several of the members after he's diagnosed with MS, he's a little hesitant.  He wants to keep as much of his life as he can--his job, his independence, and his hobbies.  But figure skating is impossible now with his nerve damage, so this may be the only way he can stay on the ice.  And it all seems pretty great.  If only the hockey captain didn't hate his guts...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: [HERE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LELQQYOwF_s) is a link to a sledge hockey Canada v USA game in the Paralympics for those of you who haven't seen Sledge Hockey. Has a decent clip of some checks, goals, and cellys.
> 
> So I wrote this fic with Jack playing sledge hockey after an SCI, and someone was like, Sledge Hockey is great, and I was like I know, right? I should write a fic where ALL of SMH is on the sledge hockey team! And they were like omg you should! And thus...this fic was born. I'm keeping it vaguely canon compliant--except there's no graduation obvs.
> 
> CW: for canonical mentions of casual drug use (i.e. weed)
> 
> The Haus has a seriously idealised version of disability accessibility, but I reckon with the amount of money Jack and Shitty both had/have from their parents, it's at least a little feasible that they could make it happen.
> 
> Samwell Sledge Hockey is set in the University town of Samwell where most of them went to Uni. This is going to be a slow burn between Jack and Bitty, but I promise they WILL get together before the end of the fic so there will be at least one or two chapters of them enjoying each other because well...I'm terrible at slow burns and I just want these nerds to love each other.
> 
> It's going to follow canon-ish events, but some things will be changed for the setting.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Eric breathed out slowly, trying to keep his temper. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the fact that his mother cared so much about him, but she was over-worrying and it was only making him want to go further and further away from her constant mothering. He wasn’t ever going to figure out how the hell to do this on his own if no one let him.

He turned toward his mother, whose face was all-but pressed against the car window, staring at the green tinted house standing proud on the street corner. At first glance it seemed…a little off. The outside seemed to be in a slight state of disrepair—shutters not quite attached, a few shingles on the roof not entirely secure. But at a closer look, Eric saw the wide driveway, the ramp leading to the front porch, the extra-wide front door, and low windows.

When he’d been offered a spot at the house, it had come with a promised level of accommodation Eric hadn’t expected outside of a rehabilitation centre. He’d wanted to say no. Wanted to pretend like none of this was happening and that he could just take a pill and lace up his skates, and get back to his life before the diagnosis.

But that wasn’t going to happen. His left eye was still partially blind—though the doctors all assured him that would clear up in time, and he was weight-bearing on his legs now, but his specialist hadn’t been very optimistic about him getting all his feeling back. Which meant he wouldn’t be strapping on his skates again.

Not the way he used to.

Training for sledge hockey had been difficult for the first few days, but the woman at the rink, Larissa, had been helpful and enthusiastic, “To see a fresh face. You have no idea how tired I am of all these assholes,” and apparently she was referring to the local sledge hockey team who used the rink for practise. Several of the people on the team had already participated in the Paralympics, some for the US, and some for Canada, and Eric didn’t think he’d ever be at that level, but she was enthused he had some experience with hockey—knew the rules, how the game was played.

“And our old goalie just left,” Larissa said, leaning on the door to the ice.

“Oh. I wasn’t a goalie,” Eric protested, but she cut him off, waving her hand.

“No. Bro, that’s fine. We just got our new goalie signed, but he’s not staying at the haus. He and his wife live a few miles north. But bro…so Johnson came into the kitchen a few weeks ago and was like, the narrative is about to take an interesting turn, and it’s time for me to move on. There’s a bakery AU universe I’ve had my eye on for a while.”

Eric had frowned. “What…does that mean?”

She snorted. “No idea, but anyway the room’s cleared out and the lift was just serviced so the upper floor should be like…no issue at all. Plus the rent was in your budget so…”

It had taken some convincing. Eric was a fully grown adult with a bachelor’s degree and a decent job working as a librarian at the Elementary School, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t live on his own but…

Well, his currently place had two sets of stairs he couldn’t manage anymore, and living with people who understood what he was going through was kind of everything. He hadn’t ever considered rooming with other people again. But when his MS kicked in hard and he forgot how to turn the oven on, or—god forbid—how to turn it off, there would be help. And it wouldn’t be his mother who had attempted to brush his hair for him the other morning until he’d snapped and made her cry.

“Sweetheart,” his mother’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Are you sure this is it?”

Eric nodded. “Absolutely sure. Larissa texted me the address two days ago.”

Suzanne shifted in her seat, biting her lower lip hard enough to make the skin turn white. “Dicky…I just…”

“Mother…please,” he begged. “Please don’t make this a bigger deal than it is. The meds are working as well as they’re gonna work, and they let me reduce my hours without firing me, and the rent here is cheap, and I get to…I get to get back on the ice, momma. I just…I need this. I want to be independent and this feels the safest way for now. Okay?”

“I just don’t see why me staying with you…” She trailed off at his look and sighed, because for all that she wanted him to need her, she understood. He knew she did. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

Eric shook his head. “No. Just…let me do this. I promise I’ll give you the grand tour when everything’s sorted, okay?”

She looked like she was going to protest for a moment, but then waved him off and didn’t offer to help when he leant against the car to get his crutches.

The trek across the street was long—maybe because he was still regaining his leg strength from his last relapse, but also because this was the start to something new since his diagnosis. Eric hadn’t really explained much of it to Lardo—she hadn’t really asked, and it didn’t seem to matter how long he’d been dealing with mobility problems. But he anticipated that most of the people in the house had been dealing with it a lot longer than he had. Eric’s diagnosis probably would have come years before, if he’d stopped chalking up all of the smaller issues to stress.

But it was what it was, and before long he was at the door, his finger above the bell, holding his breath. After squaring his shoulders, he gave it a push, and though he didn’t hear anything ringing or buzzing, a moment later there were footsteps heading toward him. He took a step back, just as the door flung open and a tall man with pale skin, blonde hair, and glasses stood there.

He was in khaki shorts and a blue and white striped tank top, and Eric immediately noticed the bright red painted titanium of his prosthetic on his left leg, extending from the thigh down. The guy lifted a brow, then said, “Yeah?”

“Sorry,” Eric said, shifting back and forth between each crutch, “um. I’m looking for Lardo?”

The guy’s eyes widened. “Oh shit. Bro, you’re the new guy, right? Lards said she saw you on the ice, you were speedy as fuck. I didn’t think you’d be so short.” His accent was heavy, northerner, closer to New York than Boston which was something Eric was getting used to since moving.

Eric’s cheeks flushed. “Um…”

“Oh my god sorry, I’m being a huge asshole.” He stepped back and made a sweeping gesture. “Lards is upstairs, but you can wait for her in the kitchen.” The guy jutted his chin at a swinging door to the right. “I’ll go grab her.” He rushed off without introducing himself, and Eric sighed.

So far, very bro-y. A lot like the frat guys he’d studied along side with for years. They hadn’t been terrible guys. Living in Atlanta there was a bigger queer community than Madison, but it hadn’t been easy, and they’d been far too quick to make assumptions about him. It didn’t help he’d always been a little bit…different. Definitely not the tall, strapping football playing jock his dad had always wanted in a son. He’d spent his childhood clinging to his momma’s skirts, baking pies and then with all the figure-skating well…it’s not like he could blame people for their assumptions, and it’s not like they were wrong, but it was still exhausting at times when no one wanted to get to know him beyond the pies and the Beyonce playlists.

Ducking his head, Eric pushed the edge of the swinging door with his crutch, feeling a little bit of relief when it moved easily. He stepped inside, and for a second, the shock didn’t even let him process what he was seeing.

Eric had gone to a short round of occupational rehabilitation once he’d gotten past the extreme fatigue and once the medication had started showing promise, so he’d seen accessible kitchens before. But they were never like…well. Never like this.

All of the counters, appliances, and cabinets were lowered. They all had handles for easy open and shut. There were small tools to grab things from high up, and there was a breakfast bar with a few stools, and spaces for wheelchairs. The counters were dark black, and everything had high contrast, and it was…well, possibly the best thing he’d seen in a long time.

His head started to spin as he looked round—thinking of all the things he could bake in here, thinking of all the times he’d need to de-stress and it wouldn’t be so much of a dang struggle because in the kitchen he had now it was hard enough to find a chair tall enough to fit him when he just couldn’t stand anymore.

Mesmerised, Eric crept to one of the upper cabinets and pulled the handle. The door swung easy, and revealed a bunch of sauces—mostly sriracha, and he rolled his eyes.

Frat bros.

And this wasn’t even a frat house.

Eric turned when he heard the door to the kitchen swing again, and he saw Lardo walking in, grinning at him as she held out a fist for him to bump. “Dude, I’m so glad you made it.”

Eric grinned, and followed her round the counter to the kitchen table which was also set up to accommodate chairs and wheelchairs. They sat at the edge, each taking one side of the corner, and Eric leant his crutches against the counter before turning back to her. “I hope I’m not too late. Our GPS crapped out halfway here and it was all just a big ole mess.”

Lardo waved her hand at him. “Seriously, no worries. We’re like the most chill here so you showing up at all is like good enough.”

Eric laughed. “Alright. Well. Um. So, I’ve looked over all the information you sent, and the location is pretty good when it comes to my specialist’s office and stuff, and to work. Which won’t start until September, but I have income during the summer so it’s not…”

“Bro,” Lardo said softly, and Eric quit babbling. “It’s all good. I got your info and everyone’s totally happy with it. I showed them some of the vid I took during your sledge training and I mean, it’ll take some work, but it’s the off-season so there’s plenty of time.”

Eric’s shoulders fell just slightly with a release of tension, and he offered a sheepish grin. “Sorry. It’s just…I think I’m goin’ a little round the twist with my momma fussin’ over every nook and cranny of my life. She means well but…”

“But she doesn’t realise that sometimes her version of help is the opposite?” Lardo offered, and Eric laughed, nodding. “Everyone here pretty much gets that. I mean okay maybe not Shitty…”

At the name, Eric gave a small cough, eyes wide. “You…I’m sorry I thought you just said…”

“Shitty,” Lardo said. “Lawyer by day, winger by…night games, or whatever.” She shrugged, leaning back in the chair. He lives here, but he just got a job at Legal Services so he’s like…always there. He’ll be around though. A dude in a pair of crutches and maybe boxers, if you’re lucky.”

“Otherwise,” Eric said, trailing off.

Lardo nodded with a slight hum. “Naked, yup. You get used to it.”

Eric blew out a breath. “So he’s a lawyer…called _Shitty_ …”

“Hockey name.” She sat up, leaning toward Eric. “Dude who answered the door, that’s Adam, but he goes by Holster. He teaches econ at the community college.”

Eric’s eyes widened, suddenly and profoundly grateful to know someone else in the house was working in education. “Oh.”

“Ransom, his platonic life-mate or whatever, real name Justin. He and his boyfriend Nursey—uh Derek, that is—they just bought this pizza franchise. One of those trendy things where you like go in and build your own. And they’re literally always there, too. And Dex—William. He works at the college with Holtzy, heading up IT so he works from home a lot. I think I mentioned Chowder…”

“Chris, the goalie,” Eric supplied.

“He and Cait don’t live far. There’s Ollie, Wicks, Tango, Whiskey…” she shrugged. “Our team isn’t huge, but we get by, you know? There’s another sledge hockey team in Boston so a lot of the guys go there. Easier travel and shit.” She slapped her hand on the table then, startling Eric. “Oh, and my girlfriend, Jessica—goes by Ford. She’s my co-manager since I’ve been kind of busy this year and she wanted to help out. She’s still a student at Samwell.”

Eric nodded. “I was…meanin’ to ask bout that? Samwell. Are we affiliated with the college or…?”

“Nah,” Lardo said. “But we use Faber since they upgraded the rink and the guys can get from the players benches to the ice without having to get out of their buckets.”

Eric nodded. “Alright. Well it sounds great and…”

The front door slammed, and after a second, the kitchen door swung open and a fresh face stepped in. Eric couldn’t begin to guess who the man was. Tall, a brooding look with a sharp nose, pale skin, dark black hair and fierce blue eyes. He was very broad, well built in his upper arms and chest, and he had a five o’clock shadow going on which…well, Eric was only human, and very gay, and he couldn’t help if it was super attractive.

“And this,” Lardo said, as though it was part of the conversation, “is our illustrious captain, Jack. Jack also works at the college…”

“Who is this?” Jack demanded. His voice was a little raspy, like he’d been talking all day, and there was a note of annoyance in his tone.

“This is Eric Bittle. I’m thinking…” Lardo cocked her head to the side. “Bitty.”

Eric’s mouth dropped open in protest, but Jack merely gave him a once over, then said, “You’re new on the team? Johnson’s room?”

Eric nodded, unable to make words work under the intense scrutiny of Jack’s gaze.

Jack stared at him another moment, then said, “You wanna make it with us, you need to eat more protein.”

Then was out the door, and Eric turned wide, incredulous eyes onto Lardo. “What…?”

“He gets like that. He’s teaching two summer courses which are hella long lectures. Though now that you mention it, he’s pissy like literally all the time. But he doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s just that he lives and breathes hockey and history, and that’s pretty much it. He’s won some golds with the Paralympics and…” Lardo stopped. “The rest of his history is kinda complicated, but that might be a conversation you have with him.”

Eric couldn’t begin to imagine having an actual conversation with Jack. Not with the angry eyes, and the way his tone seemed to say he was disappointed to have Eric there. “Um. Look, I don’t even know if I’m going to be any good, you know? Like…before my diagnosis I was a figure skater, not hockey player. I mean not…not really. Not more than the community league. And um…”

Lardo reached across the table and put her hand on top of his. “Bits, it’s gonna be fine. I like you, the other guys are going to adore you, and this is like…probably one of the safest spaces you’re gonna find. Okay? The people here, they fucking get it. When you have shitty days and can’t get out of bed, they’ll just dog-pile you and make you binge-watch Parks and Rec, and they respect shit. I’m not going to sell you on it, but I think you’ll like it here.”

Eric breathed a little easier. So what if one guy was an asshole, right? If the rest really were that great…? “Alright,” he said. “Can you give me everything I need for my movin’ in? My momma’s in the car waiting and I don’t want to keep her too long.”

“Shit,” Lardo said with a tiny laugh, “I hope you at least cracked a fucking window.”

*** 

Eric sat on his bed that night, staring down at the makeshift lease Lardo handed him. The rent was so much cheaper than his little apartment, and everything was included except food. There was a tentative pre-season training schedule, and several phone numbers for Eric to call so he could get properly fitted for his sledge and uniform. There was a car-pool sign up for anyone in the haus that didn’t drive, and a chore list which he wondered if it was actually followed. The place didn’t seem filthy, but it had the after-weed-and-beer smell to it like any of the University houses he’d been to in Atlanta.

Part of it felt like a step back, but there was a bigger part that felt like he was getting back to being with a team, and that was…well, it was the one thing he missed most about college. And most of the people in the haus were long-past that—they had careers and lives outside of hockey.

They just had that too. And they needed accommodations same as he did. He wasn’t going to be the odd one out when he was using his chair in the kitchen because his legs just didn’t want to support him, and he doubted he’d get any strange looks if he put reminder post-its in places because his brain was in a fog.

Yeah. He wanted this. No, he _needed_ this. His mother would be sad, but in the end he hoped she’d just be happy he was moving on with his life, and instead of losing—he was gaining.

*** 

“Eric mother-fucking Bittle.”

Eric stepped in the front door to face a man who was, as Lardo had warned, wearing nothing but a pair of Canadian flag boxers which looked at least three sizes too big, the waistband tied off with a rubber band, and a pair of crutches cuffed high on his upper arms. The first thing Eric’s eyes fixated on was the intense, thick moustache, and the second was the thick, brown hair tied high on the back of his head in a messy bun.

“You must be um…Shitty,” Eric said, proud he didn’t stumble over the name. He certainly wasn’t any stranger to swearing, but he also wasn’t used to calling people _shitty_ to their faces. The guy, however, seemed pleased as punch, and grinned under the large stache.

“Yeah I fuckin’ am. Lards said you’d be by and I volunteered to be the welcome crew since everyone else was busy.” He let one crutch dangle from his arm as he clapped Eric hard on the shoulder.

Eric was having a decent leg day, the tingles still present, but his strength was better—enough he was on his cane instead of the crutches. Shitty’s shoulder pat knocked him a little to the side, but he kept his balance and grinned. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Shitty nodded, then grabbed the handles of his crutches and began his trek down the hall, round the side of the stairs. “So, stairs are there, but only a couple people use them because well…” Shitty smacked his own ankle with his crutch, then grimaced. “Ow. Fuck. Anyway, the lift is pretty sweet and we keep it in good repair. Last time it was out we had to camp out in the living room which was fun for like two days, until you realise you’re sleeping with a bunch of sweaty, smelly fuckers who play hockey and fart a lot.”

Eric grimaced. “Ah.”

“Luckily if Dex can’t fix it, we got another guy who gets out here in a day or two. And it’s been exactly four hundred and six days since anyone’s been stuck!” Shitty tapped the opposite wall with his crutch where a whiteboard hung, reading that exact sentence in red dry-erase ink. He turned, pushing the button on the wall. “We had to get special permission for this, and it was a grand old time, let me tell you. I was just a little frog.”

Eric blinked. “Frog…?”

“Newbie. That’s you, brah.” The doors slid open with a slight creak. It reminded Eric of a dodgy old parking garage lift, but Shitty seemed confident enough so Eric followed him in, saying a prayer they wouldn’t have to reset the calendar. “Third button goes to the attic,” Shitty said, pointing at the one with a Devil Emoji sticker. “Rans and Holtzy stay up there. We’re here.” He hit the two, and they lurched up quicker than Eric expected.

The doors hung open plenty long enough for Eric and Shitty to get out into a long stretch of corridor. Shitty led the way to a room with caution tape covering it in a massive X, and he tore it down with a sweep of his hand. 

“This is you.”

Eric stared at the caution tape. “Um…”

“We had a party last week and we didn’t want anyone stumbling in and vomiting on your floor before you could even get in,” he explained with a grin.

“Ah,” Eric said, and flushed because…was that a thing here? He was distracted shortly after that, when he saw inside. Large space, large closet, fully furnished with a low bed, and set of drawers under the window. There would be plenty of room for Eric to store his wheelchair for when he wasn’t using it, and a spot for his desk and chair.

“Well?” Shitty asked, leaning on the door.

“It’s great. Perfect,” Eric said, a little breathy as he turned to face Shitty. “Um. I…” He cleared his throat. “I guess I didn’t anticipate anything like this, you know? A place where um…”

“I get it,” Shitty said. “It was originally this super stoned dream-child Jack and I came up with.”

Eric blinked. “Jack? Like…Jack whose allergic to smiling, Jack? Who told me to eat more protein then walked away?”

Shitty gaped at him, then laughed. “That fuckin’ guy…” He shook his head. “Anyway, yeah, that Jack. We met in this Women in History class at Samwell University years back. Both of us were sophomores, and I was raging at the professor because the fuckin’ lifts were down and I was late because it took me a mf’n twenty minutes to get up the three flights of stairs and she tried to lock me out. So I’m going on about accessibility and what not and she starts getting uppity about how I shouldn’t take classes on the third floor if I can’t assure I can make it under any circumstances, and Jacky boy just stands up and reads her the discrimination and disability riot act and when she asks why he’s so invested, that beautiful fucker lifts up the legs of his jeans and boom. Two prosthetics. Anyway obviously we became immediate besties.”

“Obviously,” Eric echoed a little quietly, with some disbelief, and Shitty snorted.

“Okay maybe it took a few nights of me getting stoned and throwing myself on him, but I grew on him like a funky mould and the next thing you know…boom. Haus concept. He knew a couple of people at Samwell with mobility disabilities. One brah he played with on the Paralympic sledge hockey team. So next thing you know, we’re all getting together fucking around on the ice learning to play and then…”

“Boom? Official team?” Eric offered.

“Fuck yeah,” Shitty said, slapping the wall. “We considered filing for an official NCAA team even though that’s basically unheard of right? But then Jack made a point that none of us wanted to stop after we graduated, so we decided to build this place off campus.”

“I can’t even imagine how much that would have cost,” Eric muttered, then blushed when he realised what he was saying.

Shitty, however, seemed unfazed. “Jack and I are both like…stupid rich, and frankly it was kind of a pleasure to take cash from my shithead abelist father and put it toward a hockey team full of people like me. Or well…no one’s _like_ me but…you know what I mean.”

Eric couldn’t help his smile. “Yeah. I know what you mean.” Eric drew his hand down his face and leant a little harder on his cane. “Well this is…this is great, Shitty. Seriously. Everyone I’ve met so far has been real great. I’m gonna make y’all a dozen pies for welcoming me.”

“Brah,” Shitty said, a little bit in awe. “You don’t have to, but trust me, no one around here is ever going to say no to pies.”

*** 

It took one trip of movers to get Eric’s things situated. Most of his stuff went into storage, the rest spread between his new bedroom and the kitchen. There was a tour, then a teary goodbye from Suzanne which no one in the haus was around to see, and then Eric was alone.

He was nervous, and his head was a little foggy, but routine always helped him so he got to work the moment he could, and just as he was pulling the last apple pie from the oven he heard, “Why the fuck does it smell so fucking amazing in here?”

Eric turned just as the swinging door opened, and he saw Holster walk in. Behind him in a wheelchair came another guy—dark hair, dark brown skin, the friendliest eyes Eric had ever seen on a person. He was wearing salmon shorts and a black tank top, and he had a gold-star sticker stuck to the middle of his forehead.

“Holy shit, Bits,” Holster said, glancing at the counter. “Did you do this? What the fuck?”

“ _You’re_ Bitty?” the other guy asked, and wheeled up to Eric, sticking his fist out for a bump.

Eric complied. “Yeah, hey. So um…sorry to just take over but I see a kitchen…and then, you know. Pies.” He shrugged.

“Holy fucking shit, Rans,” Holster said, leaning over the cherry, breathing in deep. “This smells so good, I’m going to fucking die.”

“Dibs,” Ransom said, staring at Eric.

Eric blinked at him. “Um. What?”

“Dibs,” Ransom said. “I’m calling dibs, for me and Holtzy. You’re officially our frog.”

Eric swallowed. “Which…means…?”

“Your education,” Ransom said.

“Your social life…”

“Your general happiness and well being…”

“Our responsibility. I mean, if you want,” Holster clarified. “But like all the frogs get dibs and you fucking make pie so we love you.”

Eric laughed and shrugged. “Oh well, that’s real nice of you. I mean you don’t have to but…I’m happy to make you pie.”

“And we’re happy to ensure you have the best experience like…of all time,” Ransom said.

Eric flushed a little more, then couldn’t help himself. “Why do you have a gold star in the middle of your forehead?”

Instead of looking embarrassed, Ransom shrugged and touched it without peeling it off. “I do summer tutoring sometimes. I was like, wicked good at science and shit so when the restaurant is slow during the summer, I tutor kids. Apparently one of my summer school kids got an A on her test, so she gave me her gold star because I was fucking great at explaining shit her teacher was not.”

Eric couldn’t help his grin. “That’s…promising, actually. Since I know almost nothing about sledge hockey, and I only played a short while on the community team. So many you can…”

“Mother fucking hockey power point!” Holster shouted. “And pie!”

Which was how Eric found himself at the table while the two D-men performed illegal acts on the cherry pie, teaching him Hockey Shit, with Ransom and Holster.

*** 

Eric was settling into his bed, fluffing the duvet when he heard a noise out of his window. He’d cracked it to let a breeze in, and now he could hear fumbling and swearing, so he rushed over, wrenching it up. The first thing he saw was Shitty, on all fours crawling across the landing. His immediate thought was Shitty had gotten stoned and was attempting some hare-brained stunt, until he realised there were chairs out there, and Shitty was easing himself into one.

It only took a second for him to notice Eric, and he waved. “Heyyyy, Bits. You wanna join me? We got medical-grade shit here, you know? Lards has gummies but I’m an old fashioned guy myself.” He punctuated his sentence with an old, Sherlock Holmes-style pipe which he clenched between his teeth.

“Um.” Eric stared at the shingles, and hesitated. “Will it hold us?”

“Brah, it can hold at least four hockey players. You and me, we’ll be alright.”

Eric really just wanted to crawl into his bed, but his nerves had gotten the best of him and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep for a while. He was still feeling alright, so he eased himself out of the window, and made his careful way to the second chair. Shitty, who had just lit his pipe, offered it over, but Eric shook his head.

“I have no idea how that would react with my meds so I’d rather not.”

Shitty shrugged, puffing for a while. “So what you got, Bits?”

Eric blinked at him. “I…oh you mean my…” He thumped a closed fist against the side of his leg.

Shitty nodded. “Me? I got spastic diplegic cerebral palsy.” He laughed when Eric’s eyes widened. “Mf’n mouth full, right? I spent my childhood under the friggin’ knife with my parents desperately trying to find that one surgery that would have me walking right and not,” he held up quote fingers in the air, “ ‘drawing negative attention to us’. Or some shit.”

Eric rubbed at the back of his neck, wishing he’d thought to bring a sweater out because it might be summer, but the night air had a bite to it that Georgia summer nights did not. “Well um. So I have MS. Uh…I mean, relapsing-remitting multiple sclerosis. I guess I’ve had it for a while now, but my symptoms were so mild I didn’t notice until uh…well. I went blind in one eye.”

“Ffffuck,” Shitty said, his voice thick with smoke. “Is that like…permanent?”

Eric shook his head. “No. Since I started this treatment, my vision has been coming back pretty steadily. But um…because I waited so long, the nerve damage to my spine was permanent. They don’t know like…how much yet, not until I’m in full remission. The treatment I’m on should help but it’s…” He shuddered at the memory of his first dose, and how sick it had made him. “It can be rough.”

“Yeah,” Shitty said. “Well, like I said before, you’re in good hands.”

Eric smiled at him. “Seems like it. Ransom and Holster…they were pretty nice. Helped me out with some hockey stuff, you know. They had a power point and everything.”

Shitty snorted. “They do that. You’ll get the power point lectures on the sin bin, haus bylaws, and probably kegster etiquette. We try not to party too much since we’re all attempting to be functional adults with careers and shit, but sometimes, you know, you just gotta… _unwind_.”

Eric nodded. “I haven’t been to a party since grad school but yeah…”

Shitty smiled at him. “We have pretty strict rules on who’s allowed to come, and it’s a one strike you’re out deal. No assholes. No hetero bullshit…”

“Hetero bullshit?” Eric asked.

“Yeah. Like here, we have some serious diversity, and if we hear any heteronormative bigot shit, they’re out. I mean, I was a little nervous when Lards said you were from the south, but you don’t seem as awful as those backwoods, hateful…”

“Bigots?” Eric supplied. “Yeah no. Um. I mean, apart from being gay,” he said, and held his breath a little because although Shitty made it obvious he was going to be cool with it, coming out to _anyone_ always made Eric nervous.

“Sweet, brah.” Shitty offered a fist bump. “Thank you for trusting me with it, you know? Like diverse haus or not, it isn’t easy.”

“Are you…?” Eric stopped. “Sorry oh my god, that is so none of my business. I’m…sorry. I’m just nervous.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Everyone here is open as _fuck_ , you know? And I’m aro, grey-ace. I sort of have a thing with Lards sometimes, but yeah.” He shrugged, leaning his head back and his eyes turned up toward the stars. “I’m super fucking glad she found you. Johnson was a great guy, but it felt like something was missing and now…” Shitty turned his head and grinned at Eric. “It doesn’t.”

Eric flushed hotly and his shoulders curled up near his ears, but he managed a grin back. “It feels nice here for me too, Shits.” And he meant it.

*** 

_I really think I’m going to like it here._

It was Eric’s last thought before bed, and by practise the next morning he wondered if he’d jinxed himself. Here he was, curled up on his side with the bucket attached to his ass, unable to get up, _not_ because he was in pain or couldn’t manage it, but because the panic was so intense, he had blacked out.

A moment later, Ransom and Holster were on either side of him, easing him up gently. Ransom’s hands were on Eric’s face, checking his pupils, probably, and it took a minute before Eric started breathing again.

“Uh…Bits?” he asked.

Eric flushed, and tried to steady himself on the blades under his sledge. “I’m…sorry. I think I…blacked out.”

“Holy fuck, he’s like one of those fainting goats!” Shitty crowed.

“I bet we can make a play out of that,” Holster said.

Then another voice carried over the ice, where Jack was near the boards staring Lardo down. “Why did you bring this guy who can’t stay upright if someone even fucking looks at him, Lardo? What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?”

Eric didn’t stay long after that. He pushed his sledge off the ice, unstrapped, and fled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had most of this written last night, so I just finished it up today and decided to post. The slow burn is KILLING me though omg. I'm terrible at it.
> 
> There's some angst here, and there are direct lines I used from canon, which all of course belong to the amazing Ngozi (who owns my entire soul btw). Events are out of canon order and some altered to fit the plot, but hopefully it keeps the same mood as before.
> 
> Special shout-out to whocanada, my new best friend, for motivating me to finish the rest of this chapter today. (and giving me a reason to procrastinate research to read their [NHL!Bitty fics](https://whoacanada.tumblr.com/tagged/nhl!bitty) which if you haven't read them...stop reading this immediately, go read that, then come back here to finish the chapter.

At the sound of a slightly mechanical noise, and the woosh of the kitchen door swinging open, Eric’s head snapped toward the motion and he watched as a broad, tall guy with pale skin covered in freckles, and red hair came in. He was in a motorised wheelchair—the source of the noise, and he stopped when he realised the kitchen wasn’t unoccupied.

“Sorry,” he said after a second. “I didn’t…” His eyes narrowed. “New guy, right?”

Eric nodded, glancing down at his hands which were covered in a light dusting of flour after retrieving the bag from the cabinet. He swiped them on the sides of his jeans, then extended his hand. “Yeah, hi there. I’m Eric Bittle.” When Dex extended his own, Eric noticed his fingers were curled in toward the palm, and Eric gave a customary fist-bump.

“Yeah, Shitty mentioned. I’m Dex.”

“Oh,” Eric said. “Right. IT guy.”

Dex snorted. “Sure. And handyman and, ‘Will, my computer says there’s network connectivity problems, what do I do,’ guy.” He headed for the fridge, and came away with a bottle of some dark beer with a very bright, gold label.

Eric couldn’t help a tiny laugh. “Sounds rough.”

“You get used to it.” Dex looked Eric up and down, then said, “You mind popping the cap on that for me?”

Eric grabbed the bottle, then the opener which was stuck on the side of the fridge, and handed it back after tossing the cap in the bin. “I can skedaddle you know. If you need this space. Everyone else is at the rink, and I didn’t think the haus would be…”

“Nah, no worries, man.” Dex lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long drink. “I probably should have gone, but some stupid fuck deleted _something_ and killed the main server last night and I’ve been up to my eyeballs in hysterical emails. The last thing I need is Jack’s special brand of pre-season bitchiness to perk up my mood.”

Eric’s eyebrows rose. “Oh. Is he um…so he’s always like that?”

Dex let out a tiny snort. “Uh. Well I mean I wasn’t there so I don’t know exactly what you mean, but whatever it was…probably yes. What did he do?”

“He just…it’s just…” Eric dragged a hand down his face and sagged against the counter. “I’m not um…good with contact? I think I can get better, I hope so. But I kind of…fainted on the ice and then high-tailed it out of there when Jack started yellin’ at Lardo for putting me on the team.”

“Oh that’s going to go over well,” Dex muttered, and when Eric blanched, he shook his head. “No like…the team does not like it when Lardo gets yelled at. I mean, Jack has been here since like…the beginning so he gets a little more leeway than some of us but…” Dex trailed off and shrugged. “I wouldn’t stress about it. It’s pre-season, shit gets easier and when we get some real training started, you probably won’t be so freaked out.”

He left after that, to head back to his server crisis, and Eric was left in the kitchen trying to tell himself the little pep-talk helped him feel better.

He was lying to himself, of course, but he decided the best thing he could do for now, was fake it til he could make it.

*** 

For the rest of the week, practise went about the same as usual. As Eric’s vision began to clear, he was getting better at tracking the puck. He had soft hands—as Shitty called them, and was even able to get a few shots on goal, though Chowder was a beast and only Jack could really score on him. But the same thing happened every time anyone came near him. Even skating his way, and Eric would go down.

Jack had clearly been reprimanded for his attitude, but as the days carried on and Eric didn’t get any better, Jack eventually lost his temper and cornered Eric in the locker room. “If you’re not going to take this seriously,” he all-but shouted, “then quit. I know this might seem like a hobby to you, Bittle, but some of us actually give a shit about doing well.”

Then he was gone, and Eric was left trembling a little in his stall.

There was a marked silence, then Ransom pushed his hands down on the bench and slid over until he was tucked up against Eric’s side, one large arm holding him close. “Look…I can tell you not to take it personally, but that’s bullshit because you’re the only one he’s yelling at.”

Eric took in a shaking breath. “Yeah.”

“I can also promise it gets better once the season starts and we get to playing some actual games, but the truth is, Jack is kind of an asshole. It’s…we all kind of understand it, but he’s still being pretty fucking unreasonable to Shits is going to talk to him.”

Eric dragged a hand down his face, then returned the half hug before reaching for his shirt. “I mean, we’ve all got our demons, right?” he said. “Struggles and…and things that make us tired and cranky. I just don’t know why he acts like it’s somehow personal or a choice when I can’t…when I’m too…”

Holster sighed as he slipped his stump into his socket, then gave Eric a careful look as he stood upright. “Bits…it’s just…when you’re the son of Bad Bob Zimmermann…”

Eric’s eyebrows shot up. “Who?”

“Bad Bob?” Holster said, sounding incredulous. “I know you’re from like the opposite of a hockey town, but are you seriously telling me you don’t know Bad Bob Zimmermann?”

Eric flushed. “I…yeah? I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Ransom said, nudging Eric with his elbow. “That’s just like…hah. Rare. He’s basically like a hockey god. Gave Gretzky a run for his money in record-breaking, and…and yeah. It’s not really our story to tell but once Jack calms down, he might explain a few things. Either way, there’s a lot of pressure on him at all times to be um…”

“Fucking amazing at everything,” Holster supplied. “So he actually does take it seriously when people on his team aren’t up to his standards. We swear to god he’s going to chill just…give it some time.”

Eric nodded, torn between wanting to just pack up and leave because all the accommodations in the haus didn’t really seem worth public humiliation when Jack verbally stripped him down to nothing in the locker room. But if there was more to it, _and_ if Jack might actually take five minutes to realise what he was doing was a bit much well…he supposed he could give it some time.

Eric dressed slowly, then he, Holster, Ransom, and Nursey headed to the pizza shop for lunch. Eric sat in the corner both with his legs tucked up onto the opposite booth, eating slowly, wondering if he really was cut out for being on a team with a guy like Jack.

*** 

It all came to a head a few days later. Eric had pencilled off four days for recovery after his treatment. It was usually a few hours after getting his injection that the symptoms started to kick in, which meant he had time to stock up his supplies of Gatorade and tinned chicken soup which were the only things he’d be able to hold down for a while. And that was if he was lucky.

His appointment that Thursday was later in the afternoon, the only opening the office had, so he popped by the Stop and Shop on his way back to the haus, then curled up in Shitty’s bed after he insisted—since it was a lot closer to the toilet than Eric’s room.

It was near ten when it began. Eric woke with a violent jolt, his heart racing, forehead sweating. His first thought was, _I’m dying_ , then he realised what was about to happen. His legs were tingling and half-numb, but he managed with his cane, and threw the bathroom door open.

For a second, time froze. He hadn’t considered that Jack and Shitty shared the bathroom. But there Jack was, wearing only boxers, his prosthetic foot up on the closed toilet lid. He had a syringe poised at the top of his thigh, just above his socket, and his eyes on Eric were wide and almost accusatory.

“Sorry,” Eric gasped. “Sorry I didn’t…” But he couldn’t talk anymore. Jack saw the panic in his face, then backed up through his own door just in time for Eric to fling the toilet lid up, and unleash what little he’d managed to eat that day.

It felt like an eternity of heaving, his eyes bugging out, his stomach feeling like it was trying to wrench its way up his throat. When there was nothing left but dry, aching heaves ripping at his throat, Eric sat back with a breath, and fell against the side of the shower. He was grateful the tiles were cool against the side of his face, and he let himself breathe through the shakes.

Several moments later, he realised Jack was there again, stood in the doorway with the empty syringe, watching him. “Bittle,” he said.

“Sorry,” Eric croaked. “Shitty let me use his room for…this.”

Jack was hesitant, gripping the syringe in his fist, eyes locked on the sharps container which Eric had just now noticed, but he didn’t step inside. “Are you sick? Because I can’t afford to…”

“No I…my treatment,” Eric said, swallowing against his sour, raspy throat. “Side effects from my treatment.”

Jack’s face remained impassive, but he stepped inside and threw the syringe in the container, then reached over for the toilet handle and flushed it. Eric let out a small laugh, shaking his head.

“Fuck. Sorry. I forgot and…”

“Get back to bed, Bittle. Let me clean up in here.”

Eric’s southern sensibilities wanted to argue. To somehow find the strength to push up and make Jack leave so he could clean up whatever mess he’d made. But he didn’t have it in him. He didn’t even really have it in him to get up on his own, and Jack seemed to realise that because after a long moment, his arm was round Eric and he was easing him to his feet.

At a near-crawling pace, Eric was finally back in Shitty’s bed, the blankets flung to the bottom as he was still burning up. But the pillow was cool and soft, and Eric’s eyes closed almost immediately. He could hear Jack moving round the bathroom, and just when he thought Jack had gone, there was a sudden, cool cloth wiping down his face.

Eric forced one eye open, and saw Jack hovering with that same, blank look. “You’re kind of a mess,” Jack said.

Eric croaked out a laugh. “Thank you very much, Mr Zimmermann, you sure know how to charm a boy.”

“Shut up, Bittle,” Jack said, but it was the kindest tone Jack had ever used with him. He pushed the cloth into Eric’s hand. “Let me know if you need anything, eh?”

Eric mumbled something to the effect of, “Okay, Jack,” into his pillow, but the exhaustion was taking him again, and before long, he was asleep.

*** 

By the next morning, Eric had spent most of the night away, alternating between sweating and shaking, and throwing up what little he managed to get into his stomach. But he was feeling a little better, and was pushing himself to sit when the door cracked open, and a familiar French-Canadian head poked through the door.

Eric’s fatigue was the only thing that kept him from showing his surprise as Jack stepped in carrying a tray with a bowl, and a tea mug. “So Chris made this,” he said, walking over and setting it on Shitty’s night stand. “He said the ginger was the only thing that got Cait through her first trimester and he thinks it might help a little.”

Whatever the soup was, it was potent—the ginger so fragrant it clung to the inside of his nose, and Eric’s stomach rumbled as he reached for the spoon. He could only manage a few bites, along with what was in the mug—hot water and a slice of lemon—but it was something, and he let out a sigh as he realised Jack was still there.

“Um,” he said.

Jack flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to…talk to you,” he said, and his tone was a little sheepish.

Eric pat the edge of the bed, and Jack carefully sat, giving him a side-eye as though he was afraid to look directly at him. “I ain’t gonna bite,” Eric rasped, his throat still raw and aching.

Jack snorted a laugh. “In your condition, that’s not what I’m afraid of, Bittle.” Then his cheeks went a little pink and he took a breath. “Look…what you saw last night, in the bathroom…”

Eric held up a hand. “Jack…look. That’s none of my business, alright? I’m not gonna question and you don’t have to tell me anything you…”

“I’m trans,” Jack said, and Eric’s babbling ceased. “It’s…I’m not closeted. If you spend two minutes on google you’ll get a hundred articles about it.”

Eric’s eyes widened, then he realised why. “Your dad,” he said, a little breathy and soft.

Jack nodded. “Yeah. My dad.” His tone had an edge to it Eric couldn’t quite read. It wasn’t bitter, but it certainly wasn’t happy. “I do my T jabs every Thursday. I was…” He let out a small laugh. “I guess we didn’t get off on the right foot, or I would have told you sooner.”

“Well that wasn’t exactly my fault now was it, Jack?” Eric bit, not meaning to be cruel, but Jack had put him through enough.

Jack’s face tipped down. “I didn’t…” He shrugged. “I wasn’t going about this the right way. I want to help.” He picked at the seam of his jeans, then finally looked over at Eric properly. “When do you get better?”

Eric blinked. “…better?”

“I mean, the treatments. The…the throwing up.”

“Oh.” Eric snorted. “Coupl’a days and I’ll be right as rain. Why?”

“I have an idea,” Jack said, then pushed himself up to stand. “For the checking problem.”

“Alright,” Eric said, though he sounded dubious. Jack seemed to be making amends, even if he hadn’t entirely _apologised_ for it. But he supposed that because the team was so important to Jack, he would have to trust him. And for all intents and purposes, it did seem like Jack knew what he was doing.”

*** 

“Oh my god, it’s so early, I’m going to vomit.”

Jack snorted as he strapped into his sledge—sans pads, but he had two sticks gripped in his hands, though he hadn’t brought out any of the pucks. Eric was fully suited, making a short spin on the ice as Jack joined him, and he was not only exhausted, but furious about being woken up at half four that morning, and dragged to Faber.

“I thought you used to figure skate, Bittle,” Jack said, doing a lap round him.

Eric kept his gaze firmly on the ice, his jaw clenched. “I did. But we were allowed to get a proper amount of sleep. Like _humans_.”

Jack laughed again, then stopped his sledge and turned it to face Eric. “Alright. I want you to head to the boards right there, and brace yourself.”

Eric immediately paled. “W-what? Why?”

“Because I’m going to check you,” Jack said as though it was the simplest thing in the world. When Eric looked like he might faint at the very idea, Jack held one of his hands up. “Look…you’re good at this. I can see it, the team can see it. Good eyes, soft hands. But your checking block is going to prevent you from getting any ice time during the games, and we have to get you past it. Just trust me, eh? I’ll come at you slow, I don’t have pads on.”

Eric swallowed. It was like exposure therapy, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Eric knew exactly what the problem was, in retrospect. It wasn’t really hard to make the connection between his fear of being hit on the ice, and the short period of time he’d attempted to play football and Coach’s boys had taken no small pleasure in getting to violently shove Eric into the ground without it being called bullying. His momma had pulled him when the nightmares turned into night terrors, and no one in his house was getting any sleep on account of his screaming.

But all the same, Eric wasn’t sure this was going to work. It wasn’t like logic could help control his visceral response to the idea of being shoved into the ground. Still, Jack was right. He was good at this—but he wasn’t going to be any good to his team if he couldn’t get past the block. And if he wasn’t playing hockey, he wouldn’t have the haus. Eric’s first experience with being sick after treatment was enough to fuel his desire to stay.

So he nodded, and braced himself against the boards and…

“Stop stop stop!” Eric’s voice was sharp, panicked, and Jack wasn’t even touching him anymore, but Eric was trembling like a leaf, and not throwing up. He looked at Jack after a minute, pushing his sledge upright, and he expected to see disappointment in Jack’s face.

Except there wasn’t. There was curiosity, and a little irritation, but that was it. “You didn’t faint this time,” Jack pointed out.

“Huh.” Eric’s eyes widened. It was true. He’d panicked, yes, but he hadn’t blacked out. “So that’s…progress?”

Jack huffed. “Well…it’s some. We have about four weeks before our first game, Bittle. Let’s see if we can’t get you ready for at least third line, eh?”

*** 

“I hate him.” Eric dropped his head down on the table in front of him, and let out a tiny sigh when he felt tiny fingers carding through his hair. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“You wan…you wan some…off my chockwat?”

Eric lifted his head and smiled at Chris’ three year old daughter who was sat on the edge of his knee, happily mashing bits of brownie onto the table. “You’d share with me?”

She nodded sagely. “Yeah. I could share.”

“That is real nice of you, sweetpea, but I think I’ve had enough today.”

Lily huffed, then slipped from Chris’ leg, hurtling round his wheelchair and into the kitchen. A second later they heard Nursey’s voice chirping her, and her giggles.

Eric smiled at Chris who shook his head and reached for his drink. “So. He’s still dragging you out at the crack of dawn.”

“Yes. Because Jack Zimmermann works harder than god, and I am a mere mortal who cannot take much more of this.” Eric scrubbed a hand down his face. “I would seriously give anything right about now for school to start up so I could tell that man four am isn’t gonna work for me anymore.”

“Few more weeks,” Chris said with a wink. “Oh! But I forgot to tell you, Cait said she made those mini apple-peach turnovers for her office and everyone loved them. She’s gotten like nineteen emails asking what bakery she got them from.”

Eric laughed. “That’s just a testament to her skills, hon. Trust me, that recipe can go either way. I know from experience.”

Chris shook his head, smiling. “Seriously though, Bitty. Are the practises helping? I mean, we have our first pre-season game next week and…”

“And I think I’ll do okay,” Eric admitted. “I’m not sure, but it’s been easier. Rans came at me twice today at practise and it got a little iffy there for a minute, but I was able to pull out of it pretty quick. I think I’m just going to focus on…you know…dodging.”

Chris smiled at him. “It’s a pretty good technique. Back in the AHL, I had a few guys on my team just a little bigger than you, and they were so fast. Like…gosh, I think I’m pretty good, and I couldn’t keep up with them to save my life.”

Eric’s eyebrows flew up. “You were in the AHL?”

Chris shrugged. “Yeah, I was. The Ontario Reign, but I got to play a couple games with the Kings before I got sick.”

“Oh. Oh Chowder, I didn’t…”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Chris said, waving his hand dismissively. “I mean, okay it wasn’t great. It was only my second season and Cait and I were in New York on vacation. I didn’t even know what was happening for so long, you know? I was having weakness, fatigue, but I thought it was just stress until suddenly I couldn’t walk.” Chris took another, long drink. “Then they told me it was a tumour on my spine and I was so confused because I didn’t have any idea before. Cait did all this research and…” He shrugged. “Then the doctors told me the surgery I needed meant they’d be damaging my spine. When it was obvious I wasn’t going to get better, we figured I’d better have a back-up plan.”

“And that was Samwell,” Eric said.

Chris nodded, then grinned widely. “Worked out okay, though. I mean, I get to play with Jack Zimmermann, and live down the street from my best friends and play on the best team in probably the entire world.”

Eric laughed, doubting that, but he appreciated Chris’ enthusiasm for the game. And frankly he wouldn’t doubt if Chris was one of the best goalies in the world—sledge or not. “Is it weird that I feel better knowing someone else who hasn’t been living with a disability their entire lives?”

Chris frowned. “What do you mean?”

Eric breathed a sigh. “I just…Shitty and Holtzy were born with theirs. Rans’ accident happened when he was six, Dex when he was thirteen, Jack was eighteen. Everyone has decades at least on me and I just…I hate that I’m still trying to figure all this out.”

Chris bit his lip, but nodded. “Yeah, I get it. I was the newbie to all of this when I first moved here too. When I first started I wasn’t even sure how bad the nerve damage was, and how much was or wasn’t going to get better, and for a while I kept thinking—hey I might not play this forever. I might be back on my skates and in an NHL goalie net by next year. But then I wasn’t and…” He trailed off, shrugging. “It’s still frustrating sometimes. I was so close, and…” He met Eric’s gaze with sincerity. “It’s hard to be too upset though. Cait is the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’ve never met a group of people before who seriously have your back like this team.” 

Eric bit his lip, then smiled. “I’m starting to learn that. Slowly but…” He shrugged and Chris beamed at him.

“I should go grab Lils. I promised Cait I’d get her back home.” He reached for his chair, then slid from the booth to his seat, and rolled into the back. A few minutes later, Chris reappeared with Lily on his lap, curled up against him with her thumb in her mouth. “See you later for the evening skate?”

Eric groaned, but nodded as he stood up. “Yeah, come hell or high water, Jack’ll see me there, I’m sure.”

*** 

Eric wasn’t having the best leg day, and by the time they got to the rink, he was on crutches and wishing he had his chair. He was postponing getting geared up until the last minute, and as he sat in his stall, he realised Jack was missing.

Murray and Hall were in the middle of giving a lecture to Rans and Holster—something to do with jockstraps, so Eric took the opportunity to grab his crutches and wander out. He had a good half an hour before anyone would really miss him, and he found himself wandering down a dark corridor which he was pretty sure led to a loading dock.

Eric was about to step out when he heard a low voice, and it took him a moment to realise that the person was speaking in rapid French. It didn’t take a huge leap to know it was Jack, and though Eric knew the logical thing to do would be to leave, he found himself leaning against the door, pushing it open a crack.

Jack was there, sat on the end of the dock with the phone pressed to his ear, his eyes squeezed shut. Eric couldn’t understand a word, but he could absolutely understand tone, and Jack’s did not sound great. It was tense, rough and stressed, and Eric fought back the urge to hug him—or maybe run back to the haus and start on a feel-better pie.

Instead he waited until Jack muttered, “Ouais, ouais. Moi aussi, à bientôt, papa.”

The moment Jack hit end call, Eric pushed the door all the way open. “Hey, Jack?”

Jack’s head whipped round, and his brow furrowed, shoulders hunched with tension. “Bittle?”

“Sorry. Sorry, I just…I heard…”

“You heard that?” Jack asked, resigned almost as he dropped forward and rested his forearms across his thighs.

Eric crept out, leaning his crutches against the wall, and came to a sit near his captain. “I um…well I didn’t understand any of it, but you sounded upset and I just…wanted to make sure you were alright?”

Jack gave him a careful look, then let out a huff. “Yeah. I’m…it’s just my dad. He flew down for the home-opener even though I told him it was just pre-season and it wasn’t worth it. But…”

“But parents never listen. Especially when they love you?” Eric offered.

Jack laughed. “Something like that, yeah. He tends to bring press and attention everywhere he goes and I just kind of…wanted some peace. But now he’s worked up about my anxiety and I want him to just trust I can handle it. I’m an adult, I went through University, grad school, I’m a professor for fuck’s sake and just…crisse, it’s so exhausting sometimes.”

Eric nodded. “I don’t…exactly get it? But when I got diagnosed my momma just dropped everything and hand to god thought she was gonna move into my tiny little apartment and brush my teeth for me every mornin’. One of my motivations for movin’ into the haus.”

Jack watched him carefully, then offered his fist bump. “Come on. Let’s get the hell out there and show them what we got, eh?”

Eric laughed, bumping his knuckles against Jack’s, then let his captain help him to his feet. The walk back was quieter, but kinder and softer than anything had been with him up to now. As they entered the locker room and started to gear up, Eric exchanged a last smile with Jack and thought that maybe they were actually starting to become friends.

*** 

Eric was wrong.

Jack was determined, of course, as a player and a human, and everyone knew he strived to win at everything. Eric didn’t realise how deep that went, or how twisted it could be until he was stood in the hallway fumbling his words with Bob, “Mr Jack’s Dad” Zimmermann and receiving praise for a goal he had most definitely not expected to get.

Eric was over the moon about it, of course. He’d done well with assists in practise and he didn’t collapse once during the game. Jack hadn’t scored, but he’d been a beast on the ice, protected Chowder with everything they had, and they won two-nothing by the end.

It was obvious, too, how proud Bob was of Jack. His tiny remarks were nothing more than raining praise down on his son, but Eric couldn’t figure out why Jack looked so…battered. It was like he was being forced to sit through an hour long lecture about what a disappointment he’d become, and it was the strangest thing.

But Eric didn’t think too much of it until Faber had cleared out, Bob had gone, and most of the guys were either heading off for a celebratory drink or home for a long sleep. He was letting himself out, hurrying to catch up with Shitty who’d offered to drive, and he saw Jack off in the distance.

His feet were aching and tingling viciously in his shoes, and his legs didn’t want to co-operate as he moved forward, but he did, and caught Jack by the hem of his shirt. “Hey. Jack I…I wanted to catch you and say thanks. All the practise we’d done…I mean I can’t even believe I managed to stay upright, let alone get a…”

“Bittle.”

His tone had Eric freezing completely, his hands stuff on the crutch handles, his mouth half-open with unspoken words.

Jack turned slightly, his jaw sharp in the dim yellow glow of the streetlamp, and his eyes were hooded, but clearly fixed on Eric’s face. After a long pause, he breathed out. “It was a lucky shot.”

Jack didn’t away quickly, but Eric couldn’t bring himself to say a word, to go after him and demand that he take it back, that he at least show some pride because it was part Jack’s hard work, and part Eric’s determination to not be a failure in the eyes of his captain. He’d expected a lot of things from Jack, but this—whatever it was—wasn’t one of them.

By the time Eric could move again, Jack had gotten into Lardo’s car, and they were halfway down the road. It was with the most confusion, and the most hurt Eric had felt since moving into the haus that he made his way to the car park, and found Shitty waiting.

Wrenching the door open, Eric flung his crutches into the back next to Shitty’s, then closed the door with a little more force than normal. Shitty eyed him, his head cocked to the side as he put the car into gear, and pushed on the hand pedal.

“What’s up, Bits?”

“Nothing,” Eric said, a little too quickly. At Shitty’s snort of disbelief, he sighed and pushed his forehead against the glass. “Jack can be a real asshole, you know that?”

Shitty laughed again. “Yeah, man. I thought we established that.” Then after a pause, “It’s worse when his dad’s here. He’s got a lot of…issues with that.”

“With what?” Eric asked, letting his bitterness creep through. “Having a supportive father who loves and cherishes him? Who doesn’t look at him like he is now wishing he was different and loving him _in spite_ of who he is instead of _because_ of it?”

Shitty chewed the inside of his cheek, then said, “Because of who Bob is…he was…able to pull some strings. Jack knew about himself from a real young age, you know? Younger than most. Took puberty blockers, was able to start on hormones without a fuss. Jack was able to play in the Q with the other boys, and even though he had to deal with a lot of fuckin’ bullshit, he was still Bad Bob’s son. Only…then he got older and it got complicated because it didn’t matter who the fuck Bad Bob was, or how many Stanley Cups or teams he owned. Jack’s gender was still a mf’n issue and the NHL wasn’t going to be sending scouts his way. And his best friend was looking to go first and Jack got…upset.”

“I know about the accident,” Eric said in a quiet voice. After Jack had come out to Eric, he’d looked up Bad Bob on the internet. He learnt a few things before he was subjected to misgendering and dead-names, so he noped out. But not before he read all about Jack’s over-dose, and the car accident. And the rehab.

“Jack loves his dad, and knows how lucky he is to have parents who accept him and love him as he is. But he also blames his dad for setting false expectations. When you’re told your whole life you can do anything you want by your parent—and when what you want is to live up to your dad’s legacy—only to be told you’ll never be given a chance…”

Shitty trailed off and understanding hit Eric like a tonne of bricks. He sucked in his breath, then let it out in a slow hiss. “I don’t think he should be awful to me. I…I earnt that goal tonight, Shits. I worked hard for it.”

“No one is going to argue there,” Shitty replied.

“Jack did.” Eric swallowed thickly. “He told me it was a lucky shot.”

Shitty’s eyes narrowed, and he let out a tired sigh. “I’ll talk to him, tell him he can’t…”

“Don’t,” Eric said, his voice quiet but commanding. “Let him have that one. He’s not going to drive me off the team, and if anyone can understand daddy issues, it’s me. I’m just tired of being treated like a liability, and then a fluke when I finally get over my issues. It’s not fair.”

“It isn’t,” Shitty said. “I won’t fight your battles for you, Bits. But please know I’m here. Okay?”

Eric managed a smile for him, just as they pulled in front of the haus. As Eric grabbed his crutches, he glanced up at the side where he could see Jack’s window. For a short moment, the light glowed through the curtains, and then went out. Eric felt a sense of relief he wouldn’t have to face Jack again tonight. And hopefully, with any luck, he wouldn’t feel like this by morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have exactly zero of chapter three written, so probably best not to expect updates this frequent lol, but whilst I'm motivated, I'm using my free time to write this fic so who knows!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being in bed with a UC flare means more fanfic! (also I did four hours of research yesterday so I earnt the fuck out of this chapter)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: frank discussions about Jack's OD, accident, and amputations. Nothing in graphic detail, but more than vague mentions.

Eric had just pulled the pie off the cooling rack when he heard a noise at the door. One familiar voice—Lardo, and another talking animatedly. And something else. The pad pad pad of soft animal feet. Eric immediately tensed up at the thought of a _pet_ in the kitchen, but when the door swung open, he realised it wasn’t at all.

In front of Lardo strolled in the person Eric had seen on Lardo’s lock screen. Jessica Ford. Her hair was presently in long box braids, woven with bits of red in each one, and her thick, coke-bottle glasses were perched high on her nose, the cat-eye frames stretching along her brows. She was smiling, one hand in Lardo’s the other holding the harness of her service dog.

The dog was gorgeous—reddish with curly hair, larger than Eric expected. The harness was decorated with slightly salty patches and stickers proclaiming the dog working, please don’t pet, and other things which he had to assume attempted to ward off passers-by, though he knew by experience people almost never listened.

“Bits,” Lardo said, almost bouncing with excitement. “Fucking so glad you’re here bro.”

Ford’s eyes widened behind her glasses. “Oh my god. L has not shut _up_ about you like all summer. And oh my god I smell pie. Are you telling me you were not lying about pie?”

“I was so not lying about pie,” Lardo said, eyeing the apple on the counter. “Can we…have pie?”

Before Eric could answer, there was a shuffle at the door and Jack appeared. He gave a small cough, then said, “Hey, Jess,” right before Ford abandoned the dog’s harness to her girlfriend, and launched herself at Jack.

It was a sweet reunion, one that left something a little hot and jealous in Eric’s stomach because he wondered if Jack would ever, _ever_ give two shits about him enough to call him friend. Or even exchange casual hugs. Eric didn’t expect to be like Shitty, to be allowed to crawl into Jack’s bed and cuddle in him nothing more than boxers. But Jack was his captain, and his hausmate, and probably the person who hated him most.

He let out a tiny sigh and watched as Lardo took the dog off the leash, and opened the back door. It took off happily, and she hung the harness on a tall hook near the swinging door. By the time Eric looked back over at Ford, she had detached from Jack—who had conveniently disappeared—and was walking toward the counter where the pie sat.

“Oh my gosh, where are my manners. Plates,” Eric said, trying to keep himself busy. He bustled toward the cabinet, wincing when his hand began to tingle, but he managed to get them on the counter, and served out three pieces.

They all gathered at the table, Eric feeling better now that he was resting—anticipating his treatment the next afternoon so he was binging as many calories as he could manage before his monthly purge. He sat quiet as he listened to Ford go on about her trip home, and dealing with people in general.

“…just so good to be back here. I mean, not like Samwell is perfect, but yesterday I went to my last eye appointment and some lady saw me looking at a pamphlet and then was like, ‘If you can read that, why do you have a _seeing eye dog_. I had exactly zero spoons to give emotional labour to this woman but I swear to god I just wanted to come home and be done with it.” She rubbed her hand down her face, knocking her glasses askew before just taking them off and letting them rest at the edge of the table.

“Well I’m glad you’re home. Jack has been in a _mood_ lately, taking it all out on poor Bits,” Lardo said, giving him a sympathetic look.

Ford sighed. “Oh, he was the same damn way with Holtzy, remember? That entire year was like someone had pissed in his Wheaties.”

Eric’s eyebrows went up and he set his fork down. “What changed?”

“Well,” Ford said, leaning on her elbow and letting her fingers tangle with Lardo’s. “I mean they’re not like besties, but I think it was just a bunch of getting schwasted and beating the crap out of each other at Settlers of Catan. It never ended well, but they reached a mutual understanding.”

“Sounds promising,” Eric said dryly. He didn’t mention that before the goal things had been going okay. Ish. Not perfect, but Jack had started to treat him like a human being. Now he was almost silent during checking practise, and didn’t look at him longer than a second if they were forced to be in the same room together.

Eric supposed it was sheer luck alone that had Jack so busy with summer lectures, so Eric wasn’t spending a tonne of time with him. And a few days after his treatment he had Kindergarten Round-up at the Elementary school which he was hosting. It meant nothing more than letting the future Kinders do a couple of projects with beans, dry macaroni, glue, and glitter, then feeding them cupcakes before sending them home to their overwhelmed parents, but it was always a fun time. And right after treatment he’d be in the best condition to do it.

He was really missing work, he decided. Even shortened hours this year would be something, and he enjoyed all the kids who came in to visit during their library time.

“Bits?” Lardo’s voice drew him out of his thoughts, and he gave her an apologetic, sheepish smile.

“I should let y’all get caught up.” He pushed himself up from the table, wobbled a little, the tingles and numbness in his feet a bit much and he knew he’d be taking his chair to the appointment tomorrow. For now, he could make it to the lift, and to his bed. If anything, a nap would at least give him the energy he’d need to get through the rest of the day.

*** 

Eric’s treatment went as well as it ever did, and he popped to the Stop and Shop for a few things before heading back to the haus. Since Ford was back, and Shitty was holed up in his room going over a particularly tough case, Eric went straight to his room, and put a couple of black, thick garden bags into his small bin, and decided it was good enough if he couldn’t make it down the hall to the toilet on time.

The only other person he could have asked anyway was Jack, and he knew damn well that wasn’t going to happen. He set everything up as needed, and flopped down on his mattress, gingerly rubbing the jab spot until the exhaustion and stress took over, and he fell asleep.

*** 

Eric was tipped over the side of the bed with his face in the bin when his door opened. He wanted to turn his head, to yell at the person to _get out_ and let him suffer in peace, but he couldn’t do anything but heave until his stomach ached and his throat went raw. When he could breathe again, and move, he looked over to the side and let out a groan when he saw Jack standing there.

He was wearing pyjamas, his hair mussed and sticking up all over the place, and it was the only tell to how late it was. Eric swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, and didn’t protest when Jack eased him back into the bed and began to wiped his face down with a cool, wet flannel.

Eric’s eyes closed and he let himself bask in the attention, but only for a second. Only until his brain caught up with his body and he remembered everything from the past week. He caught Jack’s hand by the wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze, and Jack pulled away.

“Bittle…”

“You have to stop,” Eric rasped. “You can’t just…” He waved his hand at Jack in a sort of abstract way, then pushed him aside, lurching toward the bin again. Several more minutes of heaving before he could speak again, and this time he pushed himself up on his elbow to give Jack a dark look. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but you don’t get to pick and choose when you treat me like a person.”

Jack’s cheeks pinked, and his mouth opened as if to defend himself, then it shut again just as quick.

“I’d rather you be kind when I don’t feel like death. Otherwise it just feels like pity and I think you understand how much worse that is.” He curled up on his side, his eyes threatening to close, but he didn’t let them. Not yet.

After a long, long moment, Jack rose. “You should use my room.”

“I’ll be fine here,” Eric said. When Jack handed him the flannel, he was pragmatic enough to take it, pushing it against the back of his neck. “I been sicker in even worse places than my comfy bedroom. And I’ll be well enough to clean all this mess up soon.”

Jack hesitated, hovering by the door. For a minute, Eric thought maybe he’d apologise, or protest. But instead he turned, shutting the door with a firm click behind him.

Eric wasn’t sure if he was relieved that Jack had listened, or hurt that Jack hadn’t fought a little harder. A few minutes later, when his stomach was trying to climb up and out of his throat, he supposed it really didn’t matter.

*** 

Eric was awake, and could see bits of Jack’s trainers under the space between the floor and his door, so he sighed and called out, “I know you’re there.”

After a moment, there was a hesitant knock, which forced Eric to bite back a laugh at the thought of how long a Canadian and Southern polite-off might go on for if they both tried to hold out. He yelled for Jack to come in after a second, and then pushed himself up to sit as Jack poked his head in.

“I was…” Jack started, then took a breath. “Would you like to have checking practise this morning?”

Eric blinked, only a little startled because Jack had never _asked_ before. He’d demanded, sometimes in a tone that conveyed some level of manners, but it had never really come across as an option. Which Eric tried to be understanding about. This was Jack’s team, and Eric knew he was the weak link.

He wasn’t sure what the change was for, but it was enough, at least for the moment, to motivate him out of bed and into joggers. He opted for his chair that morning, the stress of his treatment triggering a relapse which had his feet alternating between total numbness, and pins and needles. But he felt more energised than he had all week, so it wasn’t entirely a hardship to follow Jack outside, and down the street to Faber.

Practise went as it usually did. There was no real change in the normal lack of conversation, and the determined look on Jack’s face. There was a little more praise, however, as they headed for the locker room. “I think you’re getting the hang of it,” he said as he rolled his wheelchair over to the bench and began to wriggle out of his joggers. He tossed them over where his legs were sat, and then went for his shirt.

Eric deliberately looked away. “Yeah well…I mean I feel more confident, but I don’t know how much help I’m going to be to the team if all I can do is not faint during a check.”

Jack scoffed in a way that made Eric look over sharply. Jack was pushing from his chair to the bench, and was reaching for the shirt hanging in his stall. “Bittle…I know I’ve been an asshole. I get it, and I’m sorry for that. I really am.”

Eric blinked at him in surprise, but there was sincerity in Jack’s voice that made his flame of disbelief fizzle out. “Oh. Um…”

“Teams like this…it’s not just about who can shoot the puck, you know? We’re…we’re a machine. Shitty doesn’t have the best co-ordination on the ice, but he’s fast, and he can get through tight spots to reach the puck. Dex doesn’t have enough strength in his arms to shoot well, but his size and his co-ordination and how well he can see the puck means that he can check other guys into the boards, letting one of us get a shot on goal.” Jack stopped, looking at Eric carefully, and didn’t say anything until he had both of his legs on, and started to pull his shirt over his head. “I don’t think a lot of people can match your speed, and when you’re feeling confident, you’re strong and you’re _good_. Hall wants to try you on my line and I…think I agree.”

If Eric hadn’t already been stunned into silence at the longest amount Jack had ever spoken to him already, that last thought would have done it. His mouth opened and closed, and it took him several moments to gather himself, dress, and get into his chair.

Jack didn’t seem to want a response, which was for the best since Eric had no idea what he’d even say.

But they pushed out the doors, and as they got to the end of the street, Jack stopped him with a hand on his shoulders. “How about a coffee, eh? I heard they had some caramel thing at Annie’s that Rans loved, so I thought you…might want to try it.” Jack seemed to misread Eric’s continued silence so he said, “My treat.”

At that, Eric let out a tiny laugh and reached up to give Jack’s hand a pat. “You don’t have to bribe me with lattes, Jack. But…I’m also not gonna say no.”

*** 

And so it went, for the rest of the week.

Checking practise, motivating talks, hockey practise where Eric was learning to sync with Jack on the ice—and then coffees at Annie’s. Sometimes they’d go in the mornings before Jack had lecture, sometimes Eric would be out doing errands and Jack would see him, and somehow they’d end up over there, talking about plays, or life, or Eric’s mother’s jam feud with his Aunt Judy.

It was nice. It was a sudden realisation that Eric and Jack might be becoming friends.

And he had exactly no idea what to do with that.

*** 

Swearing loudly, Eric dropped his head into his hands and viciously kicked the wheel of his chair. It had been working just fine, but moments before he had to be out the door so he could get to work, the thing just…stopped. There was a faint buzzing when he tried to make it go, like the motor was _trying_ to run, but nothing.

If Eric had any idea where to even begin to look, he might have tried to figure it out, but he was screwed. And his legs were refusing to co-operate at all. His only other viable option were crutches, and with the way he was feeling now, he wouldn’t make it to the bus stop, let alone get through the afternoon with the kinders.

Moments later, there was a knock on his door, and Eric reached over, wrenching it open. He had half expected Jack, or maybe Lardo who’d been pacing the corridors of the haus, muttering to herself about her latest showing coming up, but instead he saw Dex’s tired face, his hair a bit mussed, but his eyes looked friendly.

“You sound pissed,” Dex said by way of greeting.

“Dang chair just…shorted out on me or something,” Eric said, trying not to pout considering he was a grown man and above that. If his lip stuck out a little well…who was counting.

Dex gave him an appraising look, then turned his chair and left. Blinking, wondering what that was all about, Eric went back to staring at the thing as though maybe he could will it back to life. When nothing happened, he reached for his phone, ready to phone in and say he wasn’t going to make it—and possibly prepare for the inevitable sacking, when Dex reappeared with a metal box on his lap.

“Can I have a look? Mine craps out all the time and after a while I just got tired of being stranded and figured out at least basic fixes.”

Eric startled a little, but grinned. “Be my guest. Honestly if you think you can work out what’s wrong…”

Dex came in, carefully manoeuvring Eric’s chair so he could get to the motor, and then began to take out what looked like obviously modified tools that he could hold in his hands which didn’t have a lot of motion. He tinkered a bit, then hummed, his voice muffled by a screw driver he was holding between his teeth. “Needs to be serviced, but I can get it going for now. Some wires are frayed.”

Eric couldn’t see over his shoulder, but he saw Dex’s arms working at it, and a moment later, Eric’s chair stuttered, then came back to life. He could have shouted with joy, but instead settled for telling Dex, “You are a true angel, honey. I will make you a dozen pies, I swear.”

There was a light pink flush under his freckles, but he shrugged as he put his tools away. “Seriously, it’s no worries. Though if you want to do that blueberry crumble thing you did a few weeks ago…”

“Say no more, I will make a trip to the supermarket before I come home tonight.” Eric breathed a sigh of relief when he eased into the chair, then tested the motion out. Smooth as ever, and he let his shoulders drop. “Thank you so much. It’s my first time back at work and the last thing I needed was for them to think all this…you know…” he waved his hands at his legs, “means I can’t do my job. I mean I think they’d understand but…”

“You can never guarantee,” Dex finished for him. “Seriously, Bits. It’s fine. If you want, I can show you some stuff later.”

Eric didn’t think there’d be any point in it. His brain was foggy so often he didn’t retain a lot of new information, but he appreciated the offer and gave Dex a winning smile before he hurried out, desperate not to be late.

*** 

In the end, he was ten minutes behind everyone else, but the parents and their nervous kids were still waiting, and no one seemed to notice. Nancy, the receptionist, dragged him into a hug as he parked his chair in the corner of the library, and used his cane to get to the table they’d set up for the kids.

“So good to have you back, Eric,” she said into his ear.

Eric smiled at her, leaning on his cane to hug her back with one firm arm. “It’s good to be back. I wasn’t sure um…” He shrugged, biting his lip. “I’m just glad y’all still want me here.”

“We wouldn’t trade you for the world.” She took a breath, then stared at the doors with some trepidation. “You ready for this?”

Eric laughed as he sat, and began to arrange the boxes of crayons, and the small bags of beans and macaroni. “Honey, you know I love these little sprouts. And besides, I was born ready.”

*** 

Just as the kids were being passed back to their parents, covered in a healthy layer of glitter, glue, and cupcake frosting, Eric felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. He slid behind the desk, easing into the spinning chair as he checked the screen, and saw Jack’s name in the notifications.

**Bittle, I’m heading past your school. Would you like a ride? We can get dinner on the way.**

Eric felt his heart racing, and his breath hitch, and he reminded himself this was not Jack _flirting_ or doing anything other than attempting to be nicer to him than he’d been before. Which hurt. It ached, because Eric didn’t let himself fall for people often. All through his first four years of University, he’d done little more than first dates before everything fell apart—namely because he could never bring himself to come out to his parents, and the idea of someone who knew him seeing what he was up to and telling them…

Then his first year of Grad school had come with stress, and his failing health, and ultimately having to quit because he just couldn’t take it—and that didn’t leave a lot of time for getting frisky with anyone.

So he wasn’t the best judge at knowing who was flirting, and who wasn’t. But Jack wasn’t. Because he was Eric’s captain, and he still didn’t like Eric all that much. And Eric didn’t want to assume anything about Jack’s sexuality because he’d made that mistake before and it never, ever ended well.

But Jack _was_ trying. He’d give him that much. Which allowed him to flick his screen open to reply a quick text back.

_I’m done in ten. You can come on in if you’re nearby. No sense in waitin’ alone._

He wasn’t sure how Jack would take that, but he shoved his phone into his pocket and began some of his prep work for when the year began. It was mere weeks away, and getting ahead of things for Eric was not just a preference, it was a requirement. There was no telling when things would flare up, and no telling how he’d react, and staying ahead of the game meant he could keep his job, and feel independent. Like he was getting somewhere with it.

He didn’t look up from the computer until he heard a small cough, and he looked over to see Nancy at Jack’s elbow, her eyes wide and her mouth in an excited grin. “Lord have mercy,” Eric muttered as they walked in. He gave them both a fond smile, which widened as Nancy clutched to Jack’s arm.

“Eric, you didn’t tell me one of your new housemates was Jack Zimmermann.”

Jack’s cheeks were a little pink, and his mouth was drawn into a tight line, and Eric felt himself sigh internally at what Jack must feel every time that happened. “Yeah well, I’ve been too busy tryin’ to keep these boys alive through pies…”

“Protein, Bittle,” Jack chirped then _winked_ at him.

“Keep it up, Mr Zimmermann, and next thing you know all your protein powder jars are gonna be full of my baking supplies.”

Jack feigned horror as he detached from Nancy’s grip. “You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t you underestimate me,” Eric said, and pushed up from his chair, reaching for his cane. He heard Nancy say something else, too quietly for him to make out, but it didn’t seem to matter when he looked over and saw Jack was smiling softly, nodding along. He tucked his cane into the strap at the back of the chair, then sat in it and headed over to where Jack was standing. “Should we get going?”

Jack nodded, then turned to Nancy. “It was nice to see you. I’m sure I’ll be around.”

Eric felt his breath hitch. Sure I’ll be around? What in the world did that mean? Did Jack plan on visiting more, or was he just being polite? Eric did not have the capacity to deal with any of that right now. He just followed Jack outside to his truck, and settled his chair into the ramp on the passenger side, not breathing properly until he was safely strapped in, and on their way to dinner.

It turned out, Jack wanted to grab Chinese take-away, which they did, and went back to the haus which was oddly quiet. When Eric brought it up as they settled onto the sofa, Jack shrugged. “Lards and Ford went out on a date. Shitty’s at the office dealing with some crisis. Holtzy’s over at Chowders babysitting so he and Cait could go out. I think Dex is upstairs though, if you wanted more company…?” He trailed off, sounding uncertain and maybe even a little disappointed, which made Eric quickly shake his head.

“No, no. Just not used to it being like this.” Eric shoved a large bite of noodles into his mouth to keep from rambling.

Jack watched him, then laughed, shaking his head. “Well it gets worse as the season gets on. You won’t see anyone outside of practise for days sometimes. Then suddenly it’ll be some big camp-out sleepover or some ridiculous party Holtz and Rans want to throw and…” He trailed off with a sigh.

“Not fond of those?” Eric asked, then regretted it, though Jack didn’t seem bothered.

He merely shrugged and leant into one of the cushions behind him. “Not really. I mean, it's not like I can't…I'm not afraid to have a good time, and I'm not a drug addict or alcoholic. People have the wrong idea about me, but... they always have. If they’re not trying to speculate what I have in my pants, they’re repeating bullshit TMZ rumours about how I OD’d on coke and crashed my truck.”

Eric pulled a face, rolling his eyes. “I…after um…after we talked and everything, I…”

“You googled me?” Jack offered.

Eric flushed bright red. “I know I shouldn’t have. It wasn’t my business and…”

“I don’t mind,” Jack said, soft but earnest. “I appreciate you waited until you heard most if it from me.”

“I just can’t understand how anyone would believe that shit,” Eric said, then swallowed thickly. “I just…the articles…the language they use when talkin’ about you and…”

Jack rolled his eyes, chewing on a bite of chicken before speaking again. “I hate that I’m used to it…but I am. It’s…” He scratched at his leg above his socket, then leant forward to put his plate down. “I was angry. At my dad for letting me get that far, at Parse for getting to go into the NHL when I couldn't, at myself for being stupid enough to believe my dad had enough power to change the rules. And my anxiety was out of control and no one really sat down and gave me the safe meds talk. I was just handed a bottle of pills and was told they were going to help…and when they stopped helping enough I just…kept taking more. No one said anything. And Parse went first in the draft, and suddenly everything felt like too much and…” 

Jack licked his lips, his breath shaking a little, but before Eric could tell him he didn’t have to go on, Jack said, “I don’t remember how I got in the car, or even how many pills I took. When the EMTs brought me in they guessed about twenty. Not enough to kill me, but that almost didn’t matter. I was bleeding out. I had six surgeries. They managed to save my right leg for about two weeks, but they couldn’t control the infection so…” He tapped at the side. His right leg was amputated a few inches above the knee, the left leg two inches below. Eric didn’t know the details before this, and wasn’t entirely sure what to say. “When I was healed, I went into rehab. I got a therapist, I learnt how to manage my new meds, but...I was angry for a really long time.”

“I bet,” Eric said. He set his now-empty plate on the table, and turned toward Jack. “I don’t…I mean, I can’t relate entirely. But I do know what it feels like to be angry when something is suddenly so out of control, and there’s nothing you can do to change it.”

“Yeah,” Jack breathed.

Eric bit his lip, then said, “Has it really helped? Being here?”

Jack looked startled by the question, but nodded. “Yeah, Bittle. Why? Are you…I know I was a dick and I really am trying to be better. Um…but are you still miserable?”

“Oh,” Eric said, then laughed. “Jack, honey. I mean…okay, I can’t say it was a bushel of fun when you um…hated me and everything, but it’s…this is the first time I felt like I can actually live like a dang adult and not need to rely on my momma just to exist, you know? And I was never _miserable_.”

After a long pause, Jack sighed out, “Well I never hated you. I’m…still struggling with some stuff. I took it out on you, but it was never _you_.”

For whatever reason, for all the other short apologies Jack gave, that one felt the best. Eric felt a knot in his chest unfurl that he hadn’t even known was still there, and he was able to smile more genuine than he had in a long time. “Thanks, Jack. And for what it’s worth, I accept your apology. I really do. We’re…we’re cool.”

Jack laughed a bit and shook his head. “Thanks, Bittle.”

Eric beamed back, “Any time, Jack.”

And things weren’t perfect, but he felt like maybe they were getting there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: A mash-up of Lardo's art-show, Spring C, ice skating, Bitty babysits for Chowder, more Jack and Bitty bonding.
> 
> Warnings for future chapters: Since this is mostly in-keeping with canon, Parse will make a brief appearance for the Epikegster (in chapter 5), and it will be mostly canon compliant (in the sense that he shows up, rows with Jack, and causes a panic attack). That will probably be the only appearance of Parse in this Universe. There will be no Parse bashing, but his relationship with Jack is just as complicated in this universe as it is in canon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More pining, more Jack-Bitty bonding, some first date fails.
> 
> Never fall for a straight boy. (Oh, Bitty.....)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: drinking, and mentions of recreational drugs (weed).
> 
> I wrote like 2/3rds of this in between research yesterday, and the rest this morning, so I'm sorry if there's any weird inconsistencies near the ending.

“Help.”

Eric turned from his mirror and saw Jack hovering in his doorway, looking stressed. An adorable crease between his brows deepened, and he held out two ties.

“You need help picking one out, or tying them?” Eric asked as he pushed away from his dresser.

Jack glanced down at his hands, a little helpless. “I just…I know my fashion sense is…lacking, but I want to look nice for Lardo’s show.”

“Bless your heart,” Eric said with a fond sigh. He crossed the room and grabbed the ties—one a sort of forest green, the other a deep blue, and he held each between the lapels of Jack’s coat. After a minute, he nodded firmly and held out the blue. “It really makes your eyes stand out.” He took a step back, then glanced Jack up and down. “Is that what you’re wearing on Saturday?”

Jack tugged at the coat, then nodded. “My mom picked it out. She had some photo shoot with some designer and…” He shrugged, going easily when Eric tugged at his collar to peer at the tag.

Eric gasped. “Good lord, this is Armani.”

“That’s…good, right?”

“Oh my god get out,” Eric said with a laugh, shoving Jack backward lightly. “I cannot deal with you right now.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but turned and headed back for his room as Eric finished putting his socks away. When he was sorted, he decided to head for the kitchen to whip up a pie for after dinner, and it was there he found Ransom, Holster, and Ford crowded at the kitchen table with a laptop. Ford had Fluffy’s head perched on her lap, and she was stroking the dog’s ears as she nodded along to whatever rapid-fire lecture Rans was giving.

When Eric entered, Holster smacked the edge of the table. “Perfect. Just the man we were hoping for.”

Eric frowned at them. “That sounds…promising. What do I owe y’all?”

“No,” Holster said firmly. “We’re sorting out dates for Lardo’s show.”

Ford nodded sagely. “Obviously L and I are going together. And Rans is going with Holtzy because Derek’s got closing duties that night.”

When Eric frowned, Rans waved it off. “Nah no worries. He got to go to the last thing, so it’s his turn. Anyway he has a doctor’s appointment in the morning first thing so he doesn’t want to get shitty on cheap art-show wine.”

“Excuse you,” Ford said with a sniff. “But I picked the wine out.”

“I stand by my statement,” Rans said, crossing his arms.

Ford flipped him off, then went back to stroking the pup. “Anyway…a date isn’t required, but pretty much everyone else has one so we thought maybe you’d like some help?”

Eric flushed hotly. “Oh um. Well…I’m…it’s um…”

“We have a spreadsheet,” Rans said proudly, turning the laptop screen toward Eric. “Everyone we know over the age of twenty one…I mean unless you like them a little younger but…”

“No,” Eric said quickly, then cleared his throat. “No I mean…yeah. Twenty-one is fine.”

Holster smiled as he grabbed the laptop and typed something in. “Okay, so do you have preferences? Gender, hairstyle, height? Are you cool with the ableds or you wanna avoid that?”

Eric flushed again. “Well I’m…y’all know I’m gay, right?”

“You didn’t ever say explicitly,” Holster said.

“And we never assume,” Rans finished.

Eric shrugged. “Okay well, I’m gay. So male-aligned, please. But…” Eric sighed, reaching for the flour, then he turned for the butter. “You really don’t need to do this.”

“Bro, it’s no trouble, okay?” Rans insisted.

“Yeah, besides if we could hook up Jack with _his_ girl…”

Eric felt something tighten in his belly—strangely, because yeah okay he thought Jack was attractive but he was a southern gay man and Jack had an amazing ass—he was only human. But it wasn’t like he _liked_ Jack. He cleared his throat, turning slowly, affecting a smile as he reached for his glass bowl. “Jack has a girl?”

“Yeah. Camilla Collins? She’s like some tennis star now. Anyway, she went to Samwell with us. She and Jack are a thing,” Holster said.

“Oh.” Eric cleared his throat, then began to cube the butter. “That’s nice. She never…comes around though.” And Jack never mentioned her. Ever.

“He’s like…way secretive,” Holster said, waving his hand as he typed a few more things into the spreadsheet. “And they’re both busy I guess. I don’t know, Jack never talks about anything with us. But she’ll be here for the art show.”

Eric swallowed thickly. “That’s real nice. I’ll…I’ll make a pie.”

Ford laughed. “Bits, I kind of love you.”

Eric couldn’t help his grin. “Aww, sweetpea. You know I love you just the same.”

“Anyway,” Ransom said, clapping his hands together, then leaning back in his chair, “let’s get this shit going. Start with eye-colour, Bits, and we’ll work our way down.”

*** 

By the time Eric had the pie in the oven, and another blueberry crumble going for Dex who’d been working non-stop he was starting to look slightly zombie-fied, Ransom and Holster had managed to narrow down their search to three guys, and in the end managed to get one on text who—after seeing a photo of Eric—agreed to be his date.

“Okay, so his name is Graham and he used to play Rugby at Samwell. He graduated last year, but stayed in the area and he’s the manager over at that Italian restaurant Nursey likes so much,” Ransom said, tapping a pen on his bottom lip. Ford had since abandoned the conversation to go play outside with Fluffy, which left Eric to his apparent study of this blind date.

“We’ve only met him a couple times, but we’ve been facebook friends for fucking ever,” Holster said, “and he’s never like…posted bigoted shit or anything.”

“Oh, and he’s like, Welsh or something,” Rans said, frowning a bit. “I don’t remember. But whatever. Cute accent and he seems pretty stoked for the date.”

Eric wanted to back out, to say no thank you, to just say he was happy going on his own and didn’t need them to arrange random dates to events. But he’d been hiding for a while—from relationships, from putting himself out there, and maybe it was time. Everyone here seemed happy with their partners, and it was hard not to want that. Rans and Holster always seemed to have his best interest in mind, and he didn’t think they’d ever hook him up with someone terrible.

It was time to get excited. It was time to let himself just live.

“Well, now I need to put more thought into my outfit,” Eric said after a minute.

Ransom and Holster fist-bumped, then Ransom dragged Eric into his lap and squeezed him tight. “Fuck yeah, Bits. That’s the spirit. Get some!”

“Oh my god,” Eric gasped, and pushed away from his ridiculous friends to head upstairs. “Y’all keep an eye on that pie. If it burns, you lose privileges for a week.”

“Got your back, Bits!” Holster shouted after him, and it wasn’t until Eric was behind his closed doors that he let himself feel anything.

*** 

Eric came to a skidding halt in the corridor after physically running into Jack. He’d been fussing with the hem of his shirt, which didn’t want to stay put, and suddenly he was up against a wall. Except it wasn’t a wall, it was the expanse of Jack Zimmermann’s broad chest. He steadied Eric with a hand on his shoulder.

“Head up, Bittle, eh? Even in the haus.”

Eric dragged a hand down his face, and cursed the Universe for making Jack Zimmermann look so ridiculously good in anything. He could be wearing a suit, or dressed to rob Burger King, and it would still give Eric dang hot flashes.

“Nice tie,” was what Eric managed to chirp, and Jack laughed, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Looking forward to your date?” Jack asked.

“Oh.” Eric flushed again as he waited for the lift. He had his cane in his hand, but was still debating about getting his crutches. His legs were doing okay, but he was worried after a few hours it would get worse. The treatments over the months were helping, but he’d come to a plateau with his nerve damage, it seemed, and this was his norm. Half-numb, not a lot of weight bearing, and his best days would be cane days.

The doors pinged open, and they stepped inside as Jack continued to stare at him.

Eric gave a put upon sigh. “I’m not…I’ve never been great at the whole dating thing. Which was why I never did it. I mean, that’n livin’ in Georgia. I…things were alright at my University but I was always so dang terrified someone would report back to my momma and Coach that I just…” He shrugged.

“You’ve…never had a boyfriend?”

Eric licked his lips, and he knew there wasn’t judgment in Jack’s voice, but he couldn’t help that ugly, old feeling of embarrassment and questioning he’d been put under growing up. _If you’ve never been with a guy, how do you know you’re gay?_ Logically he knew the answer to that, and he wasn’t stupid. But being asked that over and over tended to do a real number on his head.

Heteronormative culture, Shitty would say, then give a lecture about it.

The doors opened again, and Jack held them as Eric stepped out. “Not really. Never had the time, then I got sick. Nothin’ more than a few dates here and there.”

Jack gave him a careful look, then said, “I’m sure it’s going to go great tonight, Bittle.”

“Thanks, Jack,” Eric said, then hurried into the kitchen to get away from those lazy, sad blues. Luckily he was able to busy himself with the pies he’d made to celebrate Lardo’s big night. They’d be having them after the show, back at the haus with whomever wanted to show up.

At the moment, Caitlyn was stood with her backside pressed against the table, directly next to Chris’ chair. Chris had his arm loosely wrapped round her thigh, and he was chatting animatedly to Rans who was leaning toward him, nodding. Something to do with the Sharks, which was where Eric lost interest.

He gave him a nod of hello, though, when Chris perked up and said, “Oh my gosh, Bitty! I just had some of the blueberry crumble and it was the best.”

Eric laughed. “Thanks, hon. Been perfecting that recipe since I was knee-high. There’ll be plenty more later, when we all come back to the haus. You two are comin’ back, right?”

“My mom has Lils so heck yes,” Cait said, rubbing her belly which was just starting to swell. “I’m milking it for all it’s worth.”

Eric winked at her, then went back to arranging, just to give himself something to do. His date would be here soon, and he was feeling wholly unprepared. What did a person say on a date? What did they do? What did they talk about? Eric hadn’t really made the best first impressions on people—most of the haus had been alright, but with Jack…

 _This will not be like Jack,_ he chided himself, then nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the bell.

Shitty’s voice rang out, “I got it!”

A minute later, the door opened and shut, and a few moments after that, Jack walked into the kitchen, a blonde woman trailing behind him.

She was gorgeous, that was immediately apparent. Tall, fit, a sweep of blonde hair done into a knot, skin tanned from what Eric guessed was playing tennis outside so much. She had a wide grin, and kept close to Jack’s side as they entered.

Everyone seemed to know her well, which Eric then realised probably meant she was around a lot during the year. Maybe she’d been absent because of summer or…something else. He could be pragmatic about this. Whatever ridiculous thing he was starting to feel for Jack well…he’d get over it. He’d crushed on the straight boy before, and this would be no different. He just needed time, and a little space, and there was a strong chance Jack would slip into asshole mode at any time now so…

Yeah.

That’s all he needed.

For now he was still Eric Bittle—southern and polite, and not about to let introductions go unmade. He leant heavily on his cane with his left hand, and extended his right. “Real nice to meet you. I’m…”

“Bittle,” she said, taking his hand and shaking it. “Jack has talked about you _so_ much.”

There was emphasis, but no envy or jealousy in her tone, so Eric let himself relax. “Well, I’m glad you could make it.”

“Jack said there’s pies,” Camilla said, peering round him. “What would it take to bribe you for a piece before we go? I can’t stay the whole night. I’m heading out of town tomorrow at like four am, but I’ve been dying to have some. Everyone has been raving.”

Eric couldn’t help a pleased flush, and quickly served a piece of the peach. She took a bite, then groaned and sagged against Jack. “Oh my god, you were so right. Eric…please never, ever leave.”

Eric looked at Jack who sent a soft grin between Camilla and Eric, then shrugged. “I’m doing my best to keep him around. He fits in nicely here.”

And that well…Eric had no idea what to do with that. Luckily the moment was broken by Holster bursting into the kitchen, a stranger on his heels. It took Eric about ninety full seconds to realise what it was.

His date.

Eric had seen Graham’s photos, so he wasn’t entirely blindsided by the guy. He knew the guy had soft, light brown hair, pale skin, and greenish eyes. He knew the guy was tall, and fit, and dressed well. He’d seen the crooked smile on facebook.

He seemed a little shy, which made Eric feel a little better since he wasn’t really sure what to do with himself. But Holster shoved Graham at Eric and said, “Alright, bro. Everyone’s paired up. Who’s ready to get the fuck on with this party?”

Eric had exactly no time to do more than whisper a quick, “Hey,” to his date before they were shuffled out of the house, and to everyone’s respective cars.

*** 

Eric had never been to an art show, so he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. The way his hausmates were acting, he half anticipated some sort of wild kegster, but by some miracle, the moment they stepped through the door, they all behaved themselves. There were hors d’oeuvres being served, along with trays of wine, and a small open bar which was where he immediately spotted Ford, who was sipping something that looked like whiskey, holding tight to Fluffy’s harness.

“I’m gonna,” Eric said to his date, then nodded at the bar. “Can I get you something?”

“Oh. Erm. They probably don’t have beer, do they?” Graham said. “Just vodka tonic?”

Eric nodded, then shuffled off, glancing back to see Graham take a glass of red wine from a server. He frowned to himself, but turned back to the bar and slid up next to Ford. “Hey, hon,” he said, letting her know he was there.

She grinned at him. “Hey! How’s the date? Is he hot?”

“He’s not…bad,” Eric said, glancing over again to find Graham chatting away with someone near one of the sculpture pieces that wasn’t Lardo’s. “Tall handsome type.”

“If you like that sort of thing,” Ford said, winking in his direction.

Eric huffed. “Some aren’t so bad.” And he absolutely did not mean tall, broad, and French Canadian. “Anyway, how was the set-up. Did y’all get everything the way Lardo wanted it?”

“Yeah,” Ford said, then prattled off about her work with the team to make sure the showing was as inclusive as they could manage it as Eric ordered his drinks. He hesitated before ordering two vodka tonics, and had a splash of grapefruit juice added to his own. “…and gave me some flack about the braille tags, but after she shut him down and got it done, we got to make out in the supply room for like half an hour.”

Eric snorted. “Nice. Bet that relaxed her.”

“Here’s hoping. But I have a few tricks up my sleeve if I need to. Plus I think Shits is getting her stoned right now so when she has to go on stage with the other artists she’ll be chill.”

Eric sighed, drinking half his drink, then stepping back. “Okay, I have to go deliver this. You want to come hang?”

Ford’s smile widened. “No. You go get it, okay? At least get a good make out tonight. You deserve it.” She yanked him in for a hug, then pushed him away. “I’ll see you later.”

Eric headed back to Graham, who exchanged the empty wine glass for the vodka, and then let his arm fall round Eric’s waist. It wasn’t…entirely what he wanted. Or maybe it was, but Eric was too nervous to be sure. But the vodka was nice enough, and buzzing carefully in his veins, and maybe…just maybe…the night wouldn’t end so bad.

*** 

And he supposed that was his undoing.

By the time the show was over, he was drunk, and Graham was not only drunker, but handsier and pushier than Eric wanted. Somehow he’d gotten Eric outside, away from the doors, and was crowding him against the wall.

“Babes,” he groaned, pushing himself against Eric. “Babes let me…I could suck your dick and…”

Eric pushed at his shoulders. “I don’t…shit, Graham, you are way too drunk, and I’m way too drunk, and we…”

“But I’m so good…so good at it,” he slurred. He looked up, grinned, then promptly pitched forward and vomited all over Eric’s right shoe. It was a torrent of apps and booze, and Eric’s foot felt immediately wet. He fought back a gag as Graham stumbled backward, and instinct had Eric shoving the shoe off and ripping at his sock, and trying to balance on one foot with his cane.

Graham was gone a moment later, and Eric was left near schwasted, smelly, and far more disheartened than he expected over a guy he didn’t even really like.

Luckily it only took the boys a minute to find him. Holster spotted him first, and he and Jack hurried over. Jack’s face was drawn with worry as he took in the state of Eric, and quickly put his hands on Eric’s face.

“Where’s Graham?”

Eric blinked, trying to clear his head, but it was hard with the booze and Jack’s warm palms touching him. “Um…”

“Rans saw him through the window pushing at you. Said it looked like you were trying to fight him off. I swear to god I’m going to kick his fucking _ass_ the next time I see him.”

Eric sighed, waving Holster’s rage away. “It’s…he was drunk.”

“So?” Rans said, wheeling up quickly next to Jack, then he wrinkled his nose. “Bro, who puked?”

“He did,” Eric said miserably. “All over my shoe. I…lost it. I lost my shoe. Oh god, I’m such a disaster.”

Jack gave him a fond, but careful look, then quickly spun and sat down in front of Eric. “Climb on. Holster, give me a boost up when Bittle’s secure.”

“I…what? Jack…” Eric started to protest.

“You’re not walking all the way to the car without shoes, Bittle,” Jack scolded. “There’s room in my car, and we need to get you home. It’s freezing.”

Eric protested for exactly fifteen more seconds before climbing on, and Holster heaved Jack to his feet. Jack let Holster keep him stable, since his balance wasn’t great now with Eric on his back, but they managed to get to the car with all four of them helping out, and Eric was put in the front, and Rans used the lift for his chair, Holster climbing after him.

The drive back to the haus was quiet, and Eric hated the smell of vomit, and was desperate for a shower and bed. He didn’t even protest when Jack insisted Eric use his shared one with Shitty, and just as Eric was pulling back his duvet, Jack appeared in the doorway.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

Eric nodded, hesitated, then said, “You can come in for a minute if you want, but I’m not gonna last much longer’n this.”

Jack chuckled quietly, but sat down in Eric’s desk chair and waited for him to climb under the duvet. When Eric was settled, he pushed closer. “What did he do?”

Eric blinked, frowning in confusion, then covered his face. “Oh. Lordy well…nothin’ really. I mean, he was a little handsier’n I like, you know? Wanted to um…suck my um…” Eric flushed, not sober enough to control his embarrassment. “I pushed him back, then he puked, then ran off.”

“Holster really is going to kick his ass,” Jack said, his tone low. “What he did wasn’t okay.”

“I…” Eric stopped, then heave a sigh. “Yeah, I know. I mean, I don’t think the boy deserves an ass-kicking. Maybe just one of Shitty’s three hour long stoned lectures about enthusiastic consent.”

Jack chuckled. “Yeah. I’ll suggest it.” After a pause. “Really though, you’re okay?”

“Been through worse,” Eric said, and rolled onto his side. “When I was in middle school, my daddy’s boys—football boys—knocked me around a little bit and locked me in the supply cupboard all night. Told Coach I was spendin’ the night with them. Janitor found me in the morning. My daddy was right mad, ready to tan their hides til they couldn’t walk straight for a month. Instead we just…moved. It didn’t get much better, you know. My daddy was more afraid of me bein’ gay than he was of me bein’ beat for it, so I just kept my mouth shut. I’m used to boys like him. Spent so much time bein’ in the closet they’re just angry, and a little desperate.”

“Doesn’t mean you need to take it,” Jack reminded him. His hand twitched, like he wanted to reach out and touch Eric. Or maybe that was just Eric’s wishful thinking. “Just…we got your back, Bittle. Please don’t ever forget that.”

“I won’t,” Eric breathed, then his eyes started to close. He heard Jack get up then, and head for the door, pausing before it shut.

“Goodnight, Bittle. Sleep well.”

 _Thanks, Jack_ , he meant to say, but he was already too far gone.

*** 

Eric woke with a start, confused, still a little dizzy from the alcohol, and realised it was the middle of the night. He swung his legs over the bed, wriggling his toes to get as much feeling back into them as possible, and tried to figure out what woke him. It took a moment to realise his window was cracked, and there were voices out in the reading room.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or the sleep-heavy brain, but instead of just going back to bed, Eric pushed himself up, used the side of his desk for balance, and walked to the window. He pushed it up, poking his head out, and found Shitty and Ford lying out, doing something that vaguely looked like holding hands.

Eric blinked, scrubbing a hand down his face, and startled when Shitty’s voice called out, “Bits! Get your cute southern ass out here and cuddle. Come on brah, bring it in.” Shitty detached from Ford to wriggle his fingers at Eric.

And again, maybe it was the left-over alcohol in his veins that made the idea seem smart instead of potentially dangerous, and freezing cold, but Eric climbed out on all fours, and scooted his way toward Shitty. He was immediately dragged between the V of Shitty’s legs, and hitched up against Shitty’s bare chest, hugged within an inch of his life.

“There it is, fuck yeah,” Shitty said, nuzzling Eric’s neck. He smelt like a fresh bong-hit, and there was just the barest hint of booze on his breath. Eric knew Shitty was at his cuddliest under those conditions, and after how terrible his night was, Eric didn’t really mind the comfort. Maybe he was wishing it was someone else but…well. It was good enough.

“So we heard,” Ford said after a long moment, as Eric settled in, trying to get comfortable. “About the guy. And the vomit.”

Eric pulled a face, sighing. “Yeah. Um.”

“Brah,” Shitty said, petting Eric’s hair. “That was the most epic amounts of uncool.”

“Well…it wasn’t great,” Eric admitted. “I guess I’ve had worse dates but…”

“Don’t downplay it. You’re allowed to be sad,” Shitty replied.

Eric climbed away from Shitty’s legs once they began to spasm a little, so Shitty could move and get more comfortable. He settled on the roof between his two new friends, and leant up against Ford’s side, who was quick to wrap her arm round his waist.

“You want us to tell you about some bad dates?” Ford offered. “I have probably two or three dozen.”

Eric laughed quietly. “Thank you, darlin’, but no. I’d rather think about anything else. And um. I mean…I wasn’t really lookin’ for a date anyway.”

Shitty bit his lip as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. “You ace? I mean, you said you were gay which, right on. But if you’re ace or aro, I can tell those guys to chill and…”

“No,” Eric said quickly, shaking his head. “I mean…I don’t…? I don’t think so. I want…” He swallowed thickly, then sighed out a hard breath. “I want romance, I want sex. It’s just complicated for me and I don’t really know what I’m doing. And every time I seem to catch feelings the guy is…unavailable, or straight or…both.”

“Oh shit,” Ford said, very quietly. “You like someone.”

Eric shrugged under her hand. “Yeah. I reckon I do.”

“Anyone we know?” Shitty inquired.

Eric bit his lip, then said, “I’d rather not say um…it’s just. He’s straight, and dating someone, and like I don’t want it to get weird. It just hurts and sometimes I wonder if my brain is doing this on purpose, you know? Like somehow it’s still stuck in that old Southern Baptist bullshit of it being a _sin_ and so it’s trying to punish me for my sinful thoughts.”

“It isn’t a sin,” Shitty said forcefully.

“No, I know,” Eric said with a tiny sigh. “I know it’s not. Like…logically.”

“Okay Shits, time to chill,” Ford said, her voice taking on an almost authoritative tone. “You can’t just lecture twenty-something years of cultural conditioning, okay? Bits gets it, but it doesn’t change everything he learnt growing up.” She stopped, then squeezed Eric a little tighter. “I get it. My parents are cool, but I grew up super fucking religious and uh…yeah.” She shrugged. “I get it.”

Eric felt a line of tension in his shoulders ease, and it was another profound moment of belonging that hit him like a sack of bricks. These people…who were like him, and also weren’t like him at all, making him feel more at home than anywhere he’d ever been. He wanted to grow claws and dig in, and never let it go. He wanted to fight hard to keep every second the same so he never had to venture back into a world where people treated him like…well…like they always had.

He leant back into Ford’s arm a little harder and smiled. “I’ll get over the crush, and when I do, I’ll be ready to date. Not Rugby assholes who can’t hold their liquor or take no for an answer but…”

Shitty clapped him on the knee. “It’ll happen on your timeline. And we’ll be here to throw a mf’n kegster in your name the moment it does.”

Eric laughed. “Thanks, Shits. That means a lot.”

“No worries, brah. We’ve all got your back.”

Eric couldn’t help his smile when those words echoed back at him in his memory, in a very different voice, with a different sort of tenderness which made his heart ache. But he’d get over Jack eventually, and settle into friendship.

Until then, he’d just do his best to protect his heart from any further hurt.

*** 

Eric expected things like practise and games to be similar to the way he played in the community league, but it wasn’t like that at all. Practise was a few times a week—if they were lucky—especially after the new term started.

With Samwell back in session, the pizza shop was so busy, Rans and Nursey practically lived there. Shitty was given a dozen new cases, so he was either in the office or holed up in his room occasionally muttering about the evils and injustices of big corp, and eating the pies Eric would slip on his desk.

Ford was taking her full course-load in order to graduate on time, and everyone teaching was full time, which meant Eric saw them in passing and the occasional moments they came in to steal baked goods.

Winter was also coming early that year. Eric was spending more and more time in his chair—the cold wreaking havoc on his legs which his specialist said wasn’t anything to be alarmed by, but something to keep an eye on. The treatments were still awful, but helping. He hadn’t had a full relapse since moving into the haus, and he was feeling pretty good about himself. He was taking more hours at the elementary school, and even started volunteering for the after school programme.

It was just heading into October when Eric was let out early, the after school programme cancelled by the threat of a snowstorm. Eric decided to pop into Annie’s for a coffee before heading home, and he was just passing the college when he saw a familiar head of black hair under a grey toque.

Jack looked up, his eyes bright as they settled on Eric, and suddenly he was hurrying across the street, nearly stumbling over a snowbank to get to the pavement. “Hey, Bittle,” Jack said, a little breathless.

Eric couldn’t help his laugh. “Jack. Your classes done?”

Jack shrugged. “I have office hours until five, but I needed a coffee. Are you heading to Annie’s?”

Eric nodded. “Yeah. Today was exhausting. It’s only October, but the kids are already getting into winter break mode and…yeah.”

Jack snorted a laugh. “It’s not much different with my students. Even the ones older than me.” He hesitated, then said, “Come on, I’ll buy you one of those pumpkin thingies you like so much.”

Eric rolled his eyes. “Pumpkin Spice Latte,” he scolded. “And you might try one sometime. They’re actually really delicious.”

“I’ll take your word on it and save myself all the sugar,” Jack chirped, but he held the door for Eric, and shooed him to a table as he got their orders. When he came back over, he’d also grabbed a pumpkin scone for Eric, and Eric took it, ignoring the fluttering in his chest because it felt like a date, though he knew it wasn’t. This was just…this was just Jack, being nice now, actually giving a shit about Eric as a friend.

“Come hang at my office,” Jack said after a minute. “I’m not really expecting any students today. Then I can give you a ride home. It’s going to snow in a few minutes anyway.”

Eric wanted to say no, wanted to distance himself from Jack, but he couldn’t help it. It was like a biological response, the desire to spend more time with him, to stay close to him. He nodded and followed Jack back to campus, up the lift, into the staff hallway.

Jack’s office was small, so Eric left his chair out in the lobby near the staff doors after Jack assured him it would be fine. Leaning heavy on his cane, Eric made his way to Jack’s space which was nothing more than a desk, several bookshelves covered in history texts, and a hanging shelf above his computer which was littered with what looked like historical action figures and funko-pops.

“My students give them to me,” Jack said, when he saw Eric eyeing a funko-pop Hamilton. “I don’t know if it’s because they like me, or they’re just chirping me, but I love them so…” He shrugged.

Eric thought it was sweet, and endearing, and his cheeks reddened from the affection he felt in his chest. “I bet you’re a great teacher, Jack.”

Jack looked at him, then laughed. “I…get mixed reviews. I mean…when I look, which I try not to. Um…I’ve always had kind of bad experiences with the way people talk about me online.”

“Oh honey,” Eric said, shaking his head. “I get it, but that’s…” He stopped, took a drink, then said, “You’re so passionate. I bet your classes are amazing.”

Jack’s cheeks pinked. “I just really like history. And hockey, but…well. They don’t offer lectures on hockey.”

Eric laughed. “Oh lordy, imagine if they did. You’d never eat, never sleep, you’d just lecture all day.”

“Shut up. You know I’d stop for pie.” He winked then, and Eric flushed so hard he got dizzy.

Clearing his throat, he gave himself a fatal wound as he asked, “How’s Camilla?”

Jack blinked at him, startled, then said, “Oh uh. I think she’s okay. We haven’t talked in a few weeks.”

Eric let out a startled laugh. “Really? You go weeks without talking to your girlfriend? Jack, I know relationships don’t have to follow a strict standard, and I’m certainly not an expert but…”

He went quiet at Jack’s soft, “Bittle. Camilla’s not my girlfriend.”

Eric stared. “I…but…Rans and Holster said she was your girl. That you took her to all the date-functions and…”

Jack chuckled, rolling his eyes fondly. “Well, yes. I mean, we _do_ go to couples’ things together but not like…we aren’t,” he said, sounding a little helpless. He dragged a hand down his face, then sat back. “We tried actually dating when we were at Samwell, but she prefers women and I just…dating isn’t…I’m not great at it. But she’s a good friend so I just…invite her to things.”

“Oh,” Eric said, a little breathy. Jack was still straight, but somehow knowing he was just as single as Eric, just as terrible at the whole dating thing, made it feel a little easier to bear. “I’m sorry I assumed.”

“You’re fine,” Jack said. Then he winced and looked down at his leg. “Do you mind if I take this off?” He thumped his right leg.

“Honey, why would I mind?” Eric said, then realised maybe that wasn’t the most sensitive thing to say, considering Jack probably got a lot of side-eyes every time someone saw his prosthetics, let alone his legs when they were off. Maybe not at the haus, but Jack had been living that way a long time, and Eric couldn’t imagine how many able-bodied people claimed it made them uncomfortable.

Jack, however, didn’t seem bothered by Eric’s answer. He just smiled, then pulled up his trouser leg and eased the prosthetic off. He pulled his sock away, revealing the naked stump. Eric had seen it before, of course. In the locker room showers, and occasionally when Jack would lounge on the sofa in shorts at the haus.

His legs were different from Holsters, or from Nursey’s. Holster lacked the scarring of an accident—having been born without his leg, and Nursey’s had been a clean amputation. Jack’s legs, however, were thick with scars, showing the last vestiges of the physical trauma from the accident. Eric tried not to stare, but Jack didn’t seem bothered either way. He rubbed gently at his stump, sighing.

“It’s been twinging all day,” he explained. “There’s metal in there, from the surgery since my femur was shattered. Kind of gets uncomfortable in the winter.”

Eric frowned, then said, “Wait, does that mean you always make airport security go off?”

Jack blinked, then laughed. “Bittle, I have two titanium legs. I always make airport security go off.”

Eric realised the absurdity of his question, and he rolled his eyes at himself. “Oh. Right.”

Jack stared at him, an absurd fondness in his eyes, and he didn’t drop his gaze as he reached for his coffee and took a long drink. After a pause, he said, “So. Game next week, eh? Nervous? We can probably squeeze in extra checking practise if you like.”

“I just think you like getting me up before the dang sun and running me into boards, Mr Zimmermann,” Eric grumbled, but he couldn’t help a tiny grin. “Anyway, I think I’m alright. Hope my shots are lucky and on point though.”

Jack startled, then looked at Eric very carefully. “You know Bittle…when I said that I…”

“Jack, I’m chirping you,” Eric said, feeling a rush of guilt. He hadn’t wanted to make Jack feel bad. They were past it, and Jack was…Jack was trying, and he was nicer, and he seemed to really like Eric now. “Really, I’m…I was just trying to be funny.”

Jack sighed. “I know but…I just…I want to make sure you know none of that was on you. It wasn’t lucky—it was a damn good shot and it was my own ridiculous insecurity that made me say it. It’s on me.”

“I forgive you,” Eric said firmly. “I might chirp you, but please know you’re forgiven. We’re…” He hesitated. “I mean, we’re friends, right? Now?”

Jack choked on his second sip of coffee, and swiped his hand across his mouth. “Of course we are. I…crisse, Bittle, I don’t invite people back to my office to hang with me in tiny spaces if we’re not friends. Or students, but that’s because they’re paying me for that.”

Eric flushed. “Lord, this boy.” He nudged Jack’s foot with his own, and Jack’s chair lurched, and they both laughed. “Okay fair enough. And yeah, I’m real excited. I…missing out on skating is hard but you know, this makes it easier. Being able to have it back again.”

Jack’s eyes were soft, understanding as he nodded. “My dad got into contact with some people who helped me get back on the ice. I’m not steady, or fast. But sometimes it’s nice to…have that, you know?”

Eric nodded, but he didn’t know. “I haven’t tried. I’m…I’m not sure I could take it, getting back on the ice but not having the strength I had before to be the same.”

“I understand,” Jack said very softly, and Eric knew Jack _did_.

It wasn’t long before Jack was done for the day. As predicted, none of the students showed up, though Jack had to answer a couple of emails before they left. But soon enough they were in Jack’s car, heading home. It was a quiet ride, but without any sort of tension, without anything hanging between them.

Eric’s crush was still hot in the centre of his chest, shifting into something deeper like…maybe like love. He knew for his own sake, he should pull away, he should stop meeting Jack’s gazes, and stop giving smile for smile. But he didn’t want to. It felt nice.

And if this was all he ever got well…he decided he’d take it. Because loving Jack—however he could—was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next is the epikegster-ish chapter, with their first game since "The Lucky Shot", and then the brief Parse appearance. We're getting pretty close to Zimbits, I promise. All of your comments have been so wonderful, and I appreciate every single one of them <3 xx


	5. Interlude: The Kegster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of an interlude than a real chapter. It's the Kegster, which is a turning point in the relationship between Jack and Bitty--no, not shippy yet, but we're nearly there. I had this written a while ago, and decided not to wait to post it, just so I can get to working on the next chapter.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Anxiety/anxiety attacks, argument with Parse which is mostly canon compliant, only they're not rowing about Jack joining the NHL. It hints around possible homophobia, but nothing overt and no slurs.
> 
> As with the other chapters, I've used some direct lines from canon, and some paraphrased lines from canon, all of which belong to the amazing, wonderful, fantastic Ngozi who deserves all of our love.

**The Kegster**

*** 

“Keg stand! Keg stand! Keg stand! Keg stand!”

Eric obliged the one time, and was left alone after that since really he’d only gotten an assist. But the game had been fantastic. He and Jack seemed to read each other, and Jack was on _fire_ on the ice. By the end of the game, he’d scored a hat trick, Rans had scored once, and they’d beat Jersey by three points.

Chowder was over the moon, spinning Cait in his chair, intermittently kissing her and taking swigs of beer as the party raged round them. There were a lot of people from Samwell, most of whom were strangers to Eric, and that had him a little flush against the wall, watching more than he was participating. It was nice though, with a cool cup of beer in his hands, and the buzzy feeling taking the edge off the tingles in his feet.

Part way through, he realised Jack was nowhere to be found, so he ventured outside where Shitty was manning the tub juice, and supposedly keeping an eye out for under-age students, though Eric didn’t think he was doing much of that at all by the look of half the people there. All the same, the reprieve from the noise and music was kind of nice, and he hopped up on the bench next to Shitty.

“Brah?” Shitty said, offering out the ladle.

Eric shook his head. “Yeah, no. After the art show, I’m not touching the hard stuff for the next possibly forever.”

“Probably best,” Shitty said with a wink. “You feeling any better?”

“Yeah,” Eric said with a shrug. “Tonight was pretty dang great. Felt good, watchin’ Jack like that. Like he was in his element. Not like…not like the home opener.”

Shitty’s face fell. “Yeah well…Jack tends to crack under the pressure of his dad’s unhelpful gaze. I mean, not that Bob doesn’t love him to death or support him but…”

“No, I get it,” Eric said quietly. “Tonight was nice though. To see him on the ice like that. Free.”

“Fuckin’ beaut of a game,” Shitty said. “Where is that glorious Canadian fucker, anyway?”

Eric shrugged. “I thought maybe he’d be out here with you. Last time I saw him, he was in the kitchen getting water, then…”

“Probably upstairs getting the blowjob of a lifetime,” Shitty said, winking.

Eric flushed unpleasantly at the thought, trying to ignore the jealousy pooling in his stomach because it was not his place to be jealous. Pining, fine—it wasn’t like he could control that. But he would not let himself be anything other than happy for Jack, if that was something his Captain wanted.

“He’ll probably be down in a bit,” Shitty said. “You don’t gotta keep me company though, Bits. I’m all good out here.”

Eric didn’t think it was a dismissal, but he hopped off the bench all the same, and made his way inside. He didn’t even realise he was heading to the lift—slipping past the barrier to keep wandering students from heading upstairs, when the doors suddenly dinged open and Jack appeared.

Alone.

And the relief hit Eric almost like a tonne of bricks. So did the casual smile on Jack’s face. Or the way he looked…normal. Not like he’d been upstairs getting…whatever. Laid.

Eric flushed, but managed a grin. “Hey, Jack. I was wonderin’ if you were comin’ down. I know you don’t normally do this.”

Jack shrugged as he held the caution tape up and slipped under it. After some hesitation, he looked at Eric who quickly slipped back through. “Coming to join me, eh?”

“You look like you could use the company. Maybe some direction, since you’re not usually social,” Eric chirped.

Jack spluttered, then laughed and elbowed Eric as they went for the keg. Eric refreshed his drink, and Jack took half a red solo cup, and somehow they ended up leant against the wall, Jack telling the story about how the second year they had the haus, the Samwell football team had come in and managed to break the lift, trapping three of their guys inside.

“…and it wouldn’t have been a big deal, but then they started getting belligerent so I ended up grabbing the fire extinguisher and setting it on them.”

“Oh my gosh,” Eric breathed, touching his hand to his chest.

Jack laughed. “Let’s just say they weren’t invited back. There’s probably a few of them in here right now, but they learnt their lesson.”

“I should hope so,” Eric said. He absently reached for his phone, and Jack smirked at him.

“Are you twittering that?”

Eric gaped at him. “Twittering…good _lord_ , Mr Zimmermann…” He shook his head, and flicked the screen on, but didn’t do anything with it. “I swear you are…otherworldly sometimes.”

Jack gave him a crooked grin. “Is that…a bad thing?”

Eric couldn’t help a tiny giggle, a flush spreading across his cheeks, fighting the desire to lean into him. “Not at all.”

Jack hummed, nibbling on the rim of his cup, then dropped it to his side and said, “Let’s take a selfie, eh? Since you have it out?”

“Oh boy,” Eric groaned. “Does the chirping ever stop?”

Jack elbowed him again. “I mean it. We can say, Bitty’s first big Kegster. Or maybe to celebrate my hat trick—and your assist.”

“Hardly holds up to three goals, that assist,” Eric said, but he leant into Jack all the same, and laughed as Jack crouched his left leg at the knee, hooking his chin over Eric’s shoulder. Eric brought up the camera as quick as he could, not wanting to make Jack stand in a bend for too long, but his fingers began to shake as he saw just how damn gorgeous Jack was on the little screen and after he pushed the button, he realised the photo came out blurry.

He almost said something.

He probably would have. Maybe suggested a re-do, only the party had gone strangely quiet, and the crowd parted in the centre, and there was someone stood there that Eric didn’t recognise, but he felt like maybe he should have known this man all the same.

Tall, broad, blonde hair tucked under a black cap. He was pale, in tight jeans, a button up flannel, and a smirk stretched across his thin lips. “If I wasn’t seeing it with my own two eyes. Jack Zimmermann. At a party. Taking a _selfie_.”

There was a pause, almost comically long, then Jack said, “Kenny.”

Kenny. 

It took a moment for it to hit Eric, and then without really any warning he gasped out, “Kent Parson. Oh my gosh.”

Kent gave Eric a passing glance, a sort of up-and-down look before dismissing him completely and turning back to Jack whose eyes hadn’t left him. “So. Zimms. Didja miss me?”

“I…” Jack said. “What…what are you doing here?”

Kent shoved one hand into his pocket, glancing round at the crowd who was clearly interested in him. Especially after Rans and Holster started loudly saying stuff like, “Stanley Cup,” and “record breaking streak,” and getting the crowd riled up about a celebrity in their very own haus.

Eric wasn’t getting the vibe from Jack, however, that this was a good thing. Jack’s cheeks were pink, and his eyes were darting round like he was looking for an escape.

“Can we talk?” Kent said.

Eric wanted to grab Jack’s hand, give him something to hold, like a ballast. Instead he nudged Jack lightly and said very soft, “Are you okay?”

Jack looked startled, like he’d forgotten anyone was there, and it stung a little, but his mouth curved into the smallest grin and his eyes softened as they met Eric’s. “Yeah. No worries, Bittle. I should um…I should take this upstairs, though. Before the selfie mill gets out of hand.”

Kent chuckled, and he followed Jack to the lift. It wasn’t until Kent tried to put his hand on Jack’s lower back, and Jack jerked away, that Eric let himself relax.

*** 

“Bits?” Shitty came into the kitchen, leaning heavily on his right crutch as he lifted his other hand to rake through his hair. “You okay? You look pale? Gonna vom?”

Eric shook his head. “Did you know Kent Parson is here?”

Shitty’s eyes widened. “Oh fuck. Are you serious? Where?”

“He went upstairs with Jack,” Eric said, and from the surprised look on Shitty’s face, the idea that wasn’t a good thing was confirmed. He reached for some of the chocolate chip-pecan cookie dough he’d mixed up earlier, and began to scoop it onto a tray. Betsy was nearly completely pre-heated, so it would only take a few minutes to get something baked, and that was keeping his mind occupied. “Is that…I um…I get the feeling that might not be a good thing.”

Shitty blew out a puff of air, walked to the counter, then abandoned his crutches to turn and hoist himself up on the edge. “Kent isn’t…he’s not a bad bro. Not…not really. He and Jack have just about as complicated a history as Jack’s got with Bad Bob, right? Only theirs is a little more…” Shitty bit his lip, then said, “Antagonistic. They don’t exactly bring out the best in each other.”

Eric gnawed on the inside of his cheek as he slipped the cookies into the oven, then set the timer and turned to Shitty. “Should I be worried? Should someone go check on him?”

“Probably best not to,” Shitty said. “You gotta let them work this shit out. Jack has a bad habit of just letting things fester.”

“You don’t think Kent’s going to…I mean he wouldn’t try anything stupid, right?”

Shitty snorted out a laugh. “Nah. Not that kinda guy. He’s not really a fighter. Competitive and plays dirty hockey, but he’s…whatever he wants from Jack, there’s nothing any of us can do about it.”

Eric wasn’t sure that was entirely true. Jack did go up with Kent willingly, but Jack also wouldn’t ask for help if he needed it. And Eric knew better than to try and put his nose where it didn’t belong, but he _could_ make some cookies, and he _could_ make it well known he was available if Jack needed anything.

“Is it the NHL thing?” Eric eventually asked.

“Something like that,” Shitty said, and just then Holster wandered in and eyed them both.

“More like a lovers thing,” he pointed out. “I mean, it’s all bullshit rumours, but they were pretty fucked up back in the day, you know? There was fanfic about their fanfic about those two in the Q. And with Jack sort of…breaking rules and shit, and they were joined at the hip. Well…let’s just say if you google Parse and Zimms, you’ll find some interesting shit.”

“I would never do that,” Eric said, wrinkling his nose. “That seems like…kind of like a violation of his privacy, don’t you think?”

Holster shrugged. “I don’t think Jack ever got much of that.”

“Yeah well, I’m not about to contribute to it,” Eric bit. He jumped when the timer dinged, and slapped both Shitty and Holster away from his tray. “These are not for you. Shoo! You get enough sweets as it is.” He plated a few, crumbling hot, and carefully balanced the plate with his left hand as he leant on his cane with his right.

Side-stepping the caution tape, Eric pushed the button on the lift, and felt apprehension running through his veins. There was no more stir downstairs, so there was a good chance that Kent was still upstairs. It made Eric hesitated before stepping into the lift, but he decided if Jack’s door was still shut, he’d wait it out in his room. Jack had been there enough for him over the last few months, so this was the least he could do.

The lift opened to his floor, and Eric slowly made his way across the hall. Jack’s door was shut and Eric was about to reach for his own when he heard voices get louder.

“…think you can just come in here and drop this on me, Kent.”

“This really isn’t about you, Jack. You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”

“Am I? If it wasn’t about me, you wouldn’t be here right now. I don’t…I’m not going to endorse…”

There was a sharp laugh, not belonging to Jack. “If you think I’m here to ask for your permission…”

“That isn’t…I don’t care what the fuck you do, Parse. You can tell whoever you want. But I’m not giving you permission to talk about…about that.”

“I don’t see why not. It’s not like…it’s not like you have an NHL career to worry about, Jack. And it’s not like you’re ever going to.”

Eric’s heart felt like it was going to beat straight out of his chest. He strained to hear more, a little desperate because Kent had just stabbed Jack in his weakest spot and…

“Anything they ask me, I’m going to deny. I’ll have my dad deny it too. You’ll be discredited.” Jack’s voice was shaking, but dangerously low. “I’m not some…I’m not some get out of jail queer card, Kent. You wanna tell the world, tell them. But you’re not using me as your big gay awakening.”

There was a longer pause, then Kent said, “You worried about what your shitty team is going to think about you if they knew? If they knew how much you…”

“Don’t,” Jack said, dangerously low.

Then the door flung open and Kent was stood there with his hat in his hand, and Jack behind him looking wrecked and shaking. Both of them stared at Eric who had no real excuses as to why he was there.

Kent sucked in a breath, then turned to Jack. “Fine. Whatever. Deny it. More lies to the public. I’m sure that’ll make your dad proud.”

Then he was gone. He headed for the stairs, and after a moment, the only trace of him was the lingering scent of expensive cologne.

Eric slowly turned toward Jack, who had a death-grip on his door knob. He didn’t meet Eric’s eyes as Eric whispered, “Jack…”

He backed up, then the door shut. After a second, Eric could hear Jack’s body hit the door, and slide down to the floor. Eric didn’t need to guess what was happening behind there, and he knew he couldn’t force himself on Jack—that wouldn’t make it better.

So he did the only thing he could think of. He sat on the opposite side, and leant back against the wood. “I’m not going anywhere, Jack. You don’t have to talk to me, and I’ll be real quiet. But I need you to know you’re not alone.”

There was no sound for a long time. Then, after what felt like an eternity, “Thanks, Bittle.”

Eric couldn’t help a smile. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He grabbed a cookie off the plate, set it on the floor—ignoring how gross that really was, and he slid it halfway under the gap. After a minute, the cookie disappeared in a slow drag. Another long moment of silence. Then, “Thanks, Bittle.” This time, it was barely a whisper.

“You’re welcome, Jack,” Eric said. “And…and I’m still here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: Jack visits Bitty's work, sledge hockey with some kids, Jack and Bitty bake together. So. Many. Feels.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update, what?! Bless these two free days to get as much writing done as I can. TBH I'm trying to finish this fic before the weekend because it's when my rough draft for my research paper is due and that's going to be taking up most of my attention so....
> 
> No real warnings for this chapter that I can think of.

Eric couldn’t be certain if it was just the sound Jack made when he walked, or if he’d been paying such close attention that he could tell now when the library doors opened and Jack came in—but either way, he grinned as he heard those steps on the crappy, thin carpeted floors. Spinning in his seat, Eric tucked a curled fist under his chin, resting his elbow on the top of the desk.

“Here to check out a book, Mr Zimmermann?”

Jack grinned at him, a little cheeky, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “I might be. I was thinking we could do a constructive criticism of…” His eyes wandered, and he snatched up one of the books the last class of Kinders had returned. “…If You Give A Mouse A Cookie.”

“Good. I expect a fourteen page essay on the analysis on my desk by Monday,” Eric said. “I’d like to know what your students think of how this little mouse suddenly became the boss of this entire kid’s life.”

Jack snorted, sliding the book on the counter. “Or, we can go with plan b.”

Eric perked up. “Lunch at Annie’s? Because I swear to god if I don’t get a chance to try that pesto sandwich on the menu board before it’s gone…”

“Come on, Bittle,” Jack said, and extended his hand, hauling Eric to his feet.

Grabbing for his cane, Eric locked the library doors and tucked his key and badge into his pocket before following Jack out into the wind tunnel where all the third and fourth grade classes were. They were stopped when one of Eric’s favourite teachers, Miss Kim, was holding her door open for the students.

They all stopped, staring, and a few of them got wide grins as Jack was starting to become a fixture at the school. “Mr Zimmermann!” two younger girls cried.

Jack tipped them a wave. “Hello.”

“I’m so glad I caught you,” Kim said, then turned to her class. “Everyone queue up against the wall, hands to yourselves, no pushing.” As they scrambled to obey, she slid up in front of both Eric and Jack. “So we have a career day coming up, and I thought maybe you’d like to come and do a talk about being a college professor? And maybe talk a little about what it’s like to be a college student?”

Jack hesitated, then shrugged. “I need to check and see. I’ve got a full timetable this semester, but I’m sure I can work something out.”

She breathed out and laughed. “Thank god. I kind of might have already mentioned it, and there will be a riot if you say no.” She hesitated again, and Eric almost told her to get back to her class when she said, “Also we have one space for a field trip coming up and I was thinking they might want to learn a little bit about sledge hockey.”

Jack’s eyes flickered over to Eric who was a little startled by the request.

“It’s just…we don’t get a lot of chances to teach them about disability, you know? I mean sure we get the health crap in their text books but we don’t really get to see anything hands-on. So um…is there ever a practise during the day?”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck and looked at Eric again. “We don’t usually schedule them. Most of us have really full days but…can we get back to you?”

“I bet either Rans or Nursey can, and if you and Holtzy’s schedules line up…” Eric mused. “Chris, too. We might be able to get at least enough for a shinny.”

Jack shrugged, then smiled at Kim. “I’ll have Bittle give you the details when we work them out.”

“Thank you,” she said. “You both might have just saved my as—er. Behind.” She turned on her heel to usher her students toward the lunch room, and once they were gone, Eric giggled.

“Lord have mercy, look what you’ve done to my job, Jack.”

Jack smiled at him, nudging with his elbow. “Come on. It’s nice. And it’s to help the kids.”

“I’m sure,” Eric said, and was grinning the whole way to Jack’s truck.

*** 

Eric Bittle could deal with a lot, but his small gay heart threatened to burst straight out of his chest when he walked into the haus late one afternoon to find Jack on the sofa with Lily Chow curled up on his lap, a book in front of them. Lily was laughing, poking at the pages as Jack attempted to read, and he only paused when Eric walked in.

_“He’ll crawl in, make himself comfortable, and fluff the pillow a few times. He’ll probably ask you to read him a story…”_

“But…you could read to me a story!” Lily interrupted, turning to look at Jack who paused his reading.

Eric pressed his hand to his mouth as he walked over. “Room for one more?”

“Bitty!” Lily cried, and scrambled over onto his lap to hug him. “Jack could…but he’s just reading me dis book about um…some mouse.”

“Yeah?” Eric said. “I bet Jack really likes that book.”

Lily grinned over at Jack who shut the book and set it aside. “Jack just might like this book. And the thrilling sequel, If You Give a Pig a Pancake.”

“Oh my god,” Eric said through a giggle.

Lily gave a huge yawn, then shuffled off Eric’s lap to sit between them. “I don’t want a nap.”

Jack raised his brows. “Are you sure? Do you want to go try it out first and see if maybe you like it?”

“No!” she said, kicking her little feet out.

Eric hesitated, then said, “You know I have this friend who really likes naps? His name is Señor Bunny and he’s really small, and he sometimes is afraid to nap by himself. Do you want to see if maybe you can help him?”

Lily hummed, then looked at Jack. “But…could you just carry me?”

Jack pushed himself up, then held out his hands and she hopped up on the cushion, then leapt into his arms. Jack hitched her on his hip, then nodded for Eric to follow along. Lily got to push the buttons on the lift to open the doors, and then to the upper floor.

“But my daddy doesn’t has one at home,” she said with a frown.

“Well, that’s because you don’t have stairs, mon p’tit coeur,” Jack said. “You just have one floor.”

“Yeah,” Lily said, then yawned loudly.

Eric chuckled, then said, “Y’all get settled in Jack’s bed and I’ll go get Señor Bun, okay?” At their assenting nod, Eric went into his room, took a minute to compose himself at the sight of _Jack_ holding a _toddler_ in the most domestic way it made his insides ache with want, then grabbed Bun off his pillow and hurried across the hall.

Lily was snuggling into Jack’s pillow, but she gave a small, happy gasp when she set her eyes on Bun. Eric settled him into her arms, stroking the ear gently. “Yeah we could um…just haff maybe one nap.”

“Okay,” Eric said. “You take care of him and Jack and I will sit in my room right there,” he pointed at the door, “so when you wake up you come and get one of us.”

She nodded, and her eyes got heavy. Once she’d drifted, Eric and Jack headed into the corridor where Eric turned to him.

“You can go down. I can wait for her to wake up if you want?” he offered.

Jack shook his head. “Unless you don’t want me in your space. Then I can…”

“No,” Eric said, grabbing Jack’s wrist with his free hand and tugging him. “Let’s put on Netflix or something.” He dragged Jack into his room, leant his cane against the wall, then crawled onto the bed to get his laptop set up.

“Do you mind if I grab my chair?” Jack asked. “I’d like to…” he gestured toward his legs.

“Go on, hon,” Eric said, waving a hand at him. “I’ll find us something to watch.” 

He ignored the thumping in his chest as Jack crept into his own room, trying not to wake Lily, then crept back, pushing his chair in and settling it against the wall. He sat on the end of Eric’s bed, and Eric tried not to think about how in a few minutes, he and Jack were going to be side-by-side. It was nothing. Jack did this all the time. Several times a week Eric had walked by Jack’s room to find the door cracked, and Shitty practically lying on top of Jack, blabbering away, naked, and stoned.

This was…

This was nothing.

He breathed out and tried not to stare, but he was too distracted to do much besides click on his folder labelled ‘movies’ without really thinking what was in there. He was running on autopilot, and even that was barely functioning in the face of Jack now pushing his hands down onto Eric’s mattress, and scooting himself up next to Eric’s side.

“Hey,” Jack said. “What did you find?”

“Oh. Um.” Eric flushed, looking at the screen and realised his mistake.

“What’s Dickey’s Southern Junior Regional Championship?” Jack asked.

Eric let out a tiny squawk and attempted to cover the screen with his hand. “Oh my god, no wrong folder. That’s nothing.”

“Is it porn?” Jack asked, edging Eric’s hand out of the way.

Eric was so hot he thought he might faint for a second, and he covered his face. “Lordy. Um. No that’s…” He sighed. “Figure skating, Jack. It’s figure skating.”

“Figure,” Jack began, and his eyes widened. “You. That’s…oh. Can I…could we watch that?”

Eric turned toward him slowly, eyes wide. “Why? Don’t you have enough chirping material as it is?”

Jack’s lips twitched, but he looked serious, and not unkind. “I’d actually like to watch. I mean, we don’t have to, Bittle. I’m not…it’s not to make fun. Believe it or not, I like most ice sport and it would be kind of…” He trailed off with a shrug. “It would be cool to see you in your element.”

Eric bit his lip, then said, “Fine, but you owe me. A baby picture or…or you playing juniors hockey or something.”

Jack hesitated, then said, “What about a photo of me taking a shit in the Stanley Cup?”

Eric’s mouth dropped open. “You did…oh my god, please tell me you were a baby.”

Jack laughed, shaking his head. “Of course I was a baby, and I was wearing a nappy and clothes but…” He huffed. “My parents love showing it so trust me, the next time they’re here it’ll be no trouble at all to get them to pull it out.”

Eric hesitated, then with a resigned sigh, he clicked on the link. It was a compilation video his mother had put together, and Eric began to flick through until he found what he was more comfortable showing Jack. “The first bits are all…it’s boring. Katya had most of my programmes set to classical music, but in the showcase I was allowed to you know…have fun? So um…well I had seen Johnny Weir do this one to Lady Gaga, so I had one choreographed to Sia.”

“I understood about three of those words,” Jack said, and Eric rolled his eyes.

“Lord, this boy,” he muttered, and hit play. After a moment, the lights on the ice came up, a sort of filtered red, blue, and yellow, illuminating Eric in all his glory. He was so young there, his face rounder, body fuller and taut with muscle. He was wearing a skin-tight, pale bodysuit covered in sequins, and his hair was done in an elaborate swoop, with coloured chalk running through it. His eyes were painted fierce with black kohl and glitter, his lips a violent, deep shade of purple.

Jack sucked in his breath, and blinked rapidly. “Oh I…that’s. You look so different.”

Eric couldn’t help a laugh as Titanium began to play, and he rubbed a hand down his face at his wide sweeps, spins, arms up, leg extended. He felt a sort of hotness in his chest, constricting his ribs with an ache because he wouldn’t ever be like this again. Even if he hadn’t been diagnosed with MS, he was getting to the age that his body just wouldn’t move like this anymore. But it had been taken away from him—he hadn’t been given the choice to gracefully retire, to do showcases here and there, and let it taper off.

Instead the Universe decided it would rip this from his hands in the form of weak, numb legs with the promise it was only, in the end, going to get worse.

Eric didn’t realise his jaw was trembling and his eyes were wet and hot until Jack reached over him slowly, flicking the video off. Eric blinked, trying to keep the tears from falling, though one or two set a hot trail down his pinked skin.

“I’m sorry, Bittle,” Jack said softly. “I didn’t…I should have, but I didn’t think how this might…” He swallowed thickly. “It’s been a really long time for me, so I think sometimes it’s easier for me to face um…things that were?”

“No, I…” Eric sniffed and quickly rubbed the moisture from his face, fists curled into his eyes as he took a couple of breaths. “It’s not your fault. I thought it would be fine. I mean it’s…it is fine. I couldn’t do this anyway, even if I wasn’t…” He gestured weakly at his legs.

Jack was silent, but he moved a little closer, urged Eric’s head to fall against his shoulder, and he rubbed his arm gently. It was sweet and domestic and everything Eric ever wanted, even though he knew it was just friendly. “You were really amazing. You deserved better than what your body did to you.”

Eric let out a laugh and turned his face up to look at Jack. “I guess you understand that better’n anyone, huh?”

Jack huffed a laugh. “In a lot of ways. I mean…” He shrugged and let his hand fall down on his right leg, curling over the shorter stump. “Growing up trans, in the back of my mind I always kind of knew it would end like it did. I was angry enough that I let it get to me, and my anxiety didn’t really help. But the accident…” He shrugged with the shoulder Eric wasn’t leaning against. “I was in denial for a really long time. When they moved me to rehab I kept…I kept waking up thinking it would be a bad dream—like it was some hallucination caused by a head injury or…I don’t know. They’d invent some technology while my sutures were healing and they’d…be able to put them back or something.”

Eric squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think of Jack at eighteen—terrified, in pain, knowing everything was just…over.

“I refused the prosthetics for a really long time,” Jack said, and his hand trailed down, briefly touching Eric’s fingers before pulling away. “Even after I was healed enough to use them, I just…” He blew out a puff of air. “My therapist eventually got through to me. She wasn’t…” He laughed. “It wasn’t anything profound, she was just like, Jack, do you want to walk or not? And I got so angry, shouting at her that of course I did, and what a stupid question it was, and then she was just like, well nothing’s stopping you. Just because you can’t have it the exact way you want it, doesn’t mean you can’t have it.”

“That doesn’t sound real nice,” Eric muttered.

“Well, it wasn’t her job to be nice. It was her job to be honest,” Jack said. “So that year I went on to take my first steps on prosthetic legs, and Kent went on to win a fucking Stanley Cup with an expansion team.”

“It feels like you never forgave him,” Eric said, treading lightly because after the night of the Kegster, Jack hadn’t brought it up, and Eric didn’t feel like it was his place to say anything.

“I didn’t,” Jack admitted. He leant back against the pillows and pushed Eric’s laptop to the side, folding the screen down. “That’s on me, that part. It’s not his fault he was born into the body which would let him do everything he wanted to do with his career. And he didn’t stick me behind the wheel of a car, and he certainly didn’t force pills down my throat. But…”

At his hesitation, Eric ventured, “He wasn’t real nice about it either, was he?”

Jack let out a huffing laugh, a little bitter, but not entirely. “No. He never was. Kent and I owe each other a lot of apologies for a lot of things, and I don’t know that we’ll ever get to a place where we can give them and mean them.” Jack hesitated, then said, “I know you heard some of what he said.”

“Not enough to have any idea what was goin’ on,” Eric said, turning to face Jack a little more. “And you don’t need to tell me, okay? Just…just know I’m here for you however you need it.”

Jack’s eyes softened, and his mouth quirked up. He leant a little closer and said, “Thanks, Bittle,” in a voice so quiet and sweet, Eric thought maybe…maybe…

“Jack?” came a small voice at the door.

Jack jumped back a little, and they both turned to see Lily in the doorway, Señor Bun’s ear between her fingers, looking a little lost and sleepy. Jack gave Eric an apologetic smile, then pat the bed and she wasted no time curling up between them.

After a pause, Eric reached for the laptop and pulled up Netflix. It took only a moment to find Moana, which had Lily grinning and pointing, and soon enough the three of them were absorbed in the film.

*** 

“Bless your heart,” Eric said as he crossed his arms, staring at the open door of Jack’s truck. “If you think I’m goin’ anywhere with you for a _surprise…_ ”

“I cannot believe you don’t trust us, Bits,” Ransom said, putting a hand to his heart as he leant out the truck window. “When have we ever…”

“Do you really want to finish that sentence Justin Oluransi?” Eric asked.

“Ooooh shit, last _named_ ,” Shitty said, slapping the side of the car. “But really, brah, this is a hella fun surprise so just…come on. It was Jack’s idea anyway.”

Eric’s eyes cut to Jack who was hovering near the driver’s door, looking a little sheepish, but grinning all the same. “Come on, Bittle. You’re not afraid, are you?”

“That’s a ridiculous question in a haus with all these foolish people,” Eric replied, but he huffed and tossed his cane into the front seat, and heaved himself in.

Before long, they were at Faber. Eric rolled his eyes, his head following as he looked at Jack. “Faber? Really? That’s your surprise?”

“Trust me,” Jack said, his voice very soft, shooting right to Eric’s core.

Eric flushed, but nodded, and he was dragged along by Holster and Ransom as Jack grabbed a few things out of the back. They got inside, and Eric frowned when he saw there was only one sledge near the entrance to the rink.

“What in the world…”

“You don’t have to,” came Jack’s voice, very close to Eric’s ear. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. But the guys and I will help.”

“Are you…” Eric swallowed thickly, then looked at the bag Jack was carrying, and suddenly he knew what was in there. “What if I fall?”

“So you fall,” Jack said. He glanced over to the bench where Ransom was sliding from his chair to the sledge, and Holster was screwing on a rather complicated looking ice skate where his prosthetic once was. “But I’ll be right there. I’ve got you. I promise.”

Eric bit his lip, but then let out a puff of air. If anyone could help him through this, it was these boys. He trusted them implicitly, and he knew it wasn’t going to feel great, but maybe…maybe it wouldn’t feel the worst, either.

He didn’t ask how Jack had managed to find skates in his size, and he tried not to give in to the raging nerves in his gut as he stood up, and braced himself on his cane. He was having a good leg day, which didn’t mean much because his balance was crap these days, and his legs were still half numb. But he made it to the wall, and looked over at Jack who had skates similar to Holster’s.

“Those skates look like something off a Steam Punk graphic novel cover,” Eric commented as Jack pushed past him onto the ice. 

Jack didn’t go far, turning slightly, wobbling, but he regained his balance. “I don’t know what that means, but I’m guessing it’s cool.”

Eric rolled his eyes, then put one foot on the ice, then the other. He left his cane and found himself sliding right into Jack’s arms. He felt like a kid again, no idea how to balance, no idea how to stay upright. If he closed his eyes, Jack was his skating instructor, urging him to try harder, to do better.

Only Jack wasn’t saying any of that. He was just holding Eric by the arms, skating backward as Eric skated forward, relearning himself.

It would never be the same. Eric was exhausted after a single lap, but there was something freeing about this suddenly—knowing he could have it sometimes, even if it wasn’t the way it was before. Jack never let his hands go, never let him hit the ice, even when his legs decided he’d had enough.

He was pink in the cheeks, and laughing at Holster pushing Rans across the ice with a speed Eric didn’t expect from a man that big. And Jack was smiling at him like Eric was something that actually brought him joy, and it felt so good, but it also hurt.

“I think I need to sit,” he said.

Jack nodded and helped Eric off the ice before heading back to do a few laps on his own. Eric watched as Jack moved fluidly, and gracefully, and could picture him in another universe skating hard, a stick between his hands, scoring goal after goal in an NHL uniform.

He felt almost wistful for it, but only for a second. Only until Jack looked over at him with that same, bright grin, and Eric was hit with a realisation that this was good. All of this…it was so, so good.

*** 

And then, for a little while, it wasn’t.

Eric woke in a fog, his hands trembling, his head not quite right. He didn’t have work that day, and his anxiety was ramping up out of fear of a full-on relapse, so he decided to head down to the kitchen to bake a pie. The monotonous routine of it always helped him. Eric could bake a pie in his sleep, he could bake a pie black-out schwasted. He would probably bake pies from beyond the grave once it was his time to go.

So when he reached for the flour and suddenly nothing made sense, he froze. He blinked at the bag, then over at the bowl of cubed butter, and then at the small pot of vodka he’d poured out. There were steps he was meant to be taking, things he knew he should know how to do and yet…

Yet his brain wouldn’t make the connection. Suddenly everything he’d ever known about making pie crust was locked behind a fogged glass window and he couldn’t reach it.

He didn’t realise a sob had escaped his lips until the door swung open and Jack walked in.

Jack. It was always Jack.

Eric wanted to be resentful, but he couldn’t do anything beyond stare at the counter in mild horror.

“Bittle?” Jack said, very quiet as he stepped up to his side. He looked down to see Eric’s hands trembling, and he reached out, pressing one between both his palms. “What happened?”

“I…I can’t,” Eric breathed. “I can’t _remember_.”

“Remember what?” Jack gently prompted.

Eric used his free hand to scrub down his face, hard and angry as he let out a growl of frustration. “How to…what to…what to do! This stupid fucking disease is taking everything, and I’ve been baking pies since I was knee high and now I can’t…I don’t…”

Jack spun him gently, hands heavy on Eric’s shoulders, eyes locking their gazes together. “Can I help?”

“I don’t know,” Eric whispered.

“When it gets like this…what helps? Me telling you? Walking you through the steps? Letting you get there on your own?”

“Maybe I should just go to bed,” Eric muttered.

“You can,” Jack said, but he wasn’t letting go. “You can, or you can let me help you. You wanna bake a pie, Bits?”

Eric bit his lip, then nodded. “I’d…I want to but I can’t…”

Jack let Eric go, and they both turned toward the counter where everything was laid out. “I’m going to mess this up,” Jack said. “Because I’m no good in the kitchen, but as long as you can forgive me, we’re going to do this.”

The determination in his voice had Eric nodding, and reaching for the counter to steady himself, and poised to listen to Jack’s gentle guiding through the process.

*** 

It took nearly an hour, but by the time Eric was cutting strips for a lattice, he’d come out of it. It was a warning sign, that a relapse was on its way which meant more issues with his body, but the worst of the cognitive problem had passed.

“Look at this, my god,” Jack groaned, gesturing at his own pie which was…not exactly aesthetically pleasing.

Eric covered a giggle, shaking his head. “Oh honey. That’s…well. I mean, I bet it’ll taste good.”

Jack hummed with a frown, but looked over at Eric’s which was neatly woven together, looking as picture-perfect as ever. “If you say so.”

“Trust me, sweetheart,” Eric said, and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

He got both pies into the oven, side-by-side, and set the timer. When he turned back to Jack, he found him leant against the counter, arms folded, smiling soft and easy.

“Alright now?”

Eric swallowed, feeling warmth bubbling in his chest, like a violent ache he’d never be able to soothe because lord… _lord_ he was in love with Jack and Jack was straight, and not interested and…

And Eric was going to pine forever.

He wasn’t sure his heart could take it. He swallowed thickly. “I think I um. I should go lay down. For a little bit. This wore me out.”

Jack frowned but nodded. “I got the rest, Bittle. If you need anything…”

“Yeah. Course,” Eric muttered, and hurried away before he could do something stupid like throw himself at Jack and kiss him.

He made it to his room a few minutes later and set a reminder on his phone to call his specialist about the cognitive episode. Then he laid back on his bed and felt the ache in his chest only grow, only get more desperate. He wasn’t going to be able to take this much longer. He couldn’t be _friends_ with Jack. It was too much, and it wasn’t enough, and Eric wasn’t going to survive it.

Pulling up his contacts, he pushed on his momma’s name and began to type out a message. 

**Nothing definite, but can you maybe look into library jobs at home? I’ve…decided to consider my options.**

It took only a second for Eric to get a reply back, and it was no surprise the excitement in her text, promising to send him every listing she could find.

It wasn’t for sure. Giving up this haus wasn’t something he could do lightly. But living under the same roof as Jack, and feeling himself get whittled down to the bone by something he could never have was just more than he could handle. If he had to take drastic measures well…so be it. At least he’d have options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Bitty has a frank talk with Lardo and Ford--and gets to cuddle some baby ducks. More angst, more talking with Jack, and a big decision is made.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been desperate to write this chapter since I started this fic. Uhg.
> 
> As before, any canon dialogue belongs to the amazing and wonderful Ngozi who has blessed us with these lovable nerds.

“Bitty? Bits, are you down here?”

Tucked into his small corner against the wall, knees against his chest, Eric let out a tiny sigh. It had been two weeks since his relapse, since Jack had walked him through baking, and been closer than Eric could have imagined, and then still so damn far away.

Eric had gone on two dates, set up by Rans and Holster—he’d been taking up more hours at the library, declining lunches with Jack, and doing very little socialising apart from their sporadic games and practises. Tonight’s game was against the Vancouver sledge hockey team, and they’d been getting practises in once a day to prepare. It was more ice time with Jack than Eric had let himself have in a while, and it was getting to be…a lot.

Chris’ voice called through the empty corridor one more time, and finally Eric gave in. The game was going to start soon, and he needed to gear up. Pushing his hands to the ground, he braced himself against the wall and eased to his feet. His crutches were a few inches away, and as he grabbed them, he said, “Yeah, Chowder, I’m here.”

There was the gentle sound of Chris’ wheels on the old concrete floors as he wheeled forward toward the sound of Eric’s voice. He stopped when Eric stepped away from the wall, and his brows dipped in a frown when he saw the way Eric’s face was drawn, splotchy, more stressed than he’d looked in a long time.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Eric scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’ve been better.”

“Is it the game?” Chris asked, reaching out to touch Eric’s wrist gently. “Look, they’re really not as bad as the guys were making it seem, okay? We’ve totally crushed them before, and we can tonight. And believe me, the guys are going to be all over them—no one’s going to get hurt.”

Eric knew Chris couldn’t really promise that, because people got hurt. It was hockey. But in all honesty, that was the least of his worries. He just wasn’t ready to vocalise that yet. Right now his mind was fixed on the echo of Jack helping him in the kitchen, or brushing through his hair when he was heaving from treatments, or the way his blue eyes lingered. And then it was on the most recent email from his momma, because he had to make a decision about what he was going to do.

**Dicky,**

**The library at your old high school is looking for a part time assistant. The pay isn’t bad, and they’re still on real good terms with your daddy, so it’s probably a shoe-in. But they’re looking to fill soon, so you need to let me know if you want to come home. I’m sure he can talk to them about what you need for your health and all that. I sure do miss you though, and it would be nice to have you home. Talk soon, baby.**

**Love,  
Momma**

Eric had sat and read the email six times, then checked the link for the job listing, and tried not to think about how it would feel to go back to that place. It hadn’t been as bad as his middle school, but it also hadn’t been much better. It had been the catalyst for Eric applying to other colleges, to flirting with the idea of going somewhere near New York, or maybe even San Francisco. Somewhere—anywhere more friendly than Georgia.

In the end, he hadn’t been brave enough to run. Not right away. And then when he did, he got sick and it just seemed like the universe was trying to punish him for taking his future into his own hands. At least, that’s what it felt like.

Even after finding the haus, and the team, and feeling like he could be independent again—he fell for Jack. He fell so hard he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to get up again, and as much as he didn’t want to be reminded of a place he’d been tortured for four years, that might be less painful than having to watch Jack eventually start dating, and fall in love, and move on.

Swallowing thickly, he ran his fingers through his hair with one hand, then pushed the tips of both crutches into the ground. “I’m good. I promise. It’s time to play some hockey.”

“Heck yes,” Chowder said, and offered his fist for a bump before leading the way to the locker room.

*** 

They won.

It was a close game, but Eric managed to spin through a tussle of massive D-men, grab the puck, shoot it to Jack who caught it on his stick and shot. It sank, glove-side, with three seconds left on the buzzer. They weren’t going into OT.

They’d won.

Eric was near tears of joy as Jack tackled him to the ice. Shitty piled on next, and Rans, Holster, Nursey, Dex…the boys from the bench. He could faintly hear Lardo and Ford screaming from the side, and as he detached, he saw Chowder skating up fast as they all began to bop his helmet with their own.

The celly continued a little longer, and when Eric pulled away, Jack was there. Their sledges were opposite each other, Jack’s body so hear his, his hands on Eric’s shoulders, sticks abandoned off to the side. His eyes were locked on Eric’s, and he pulled him in, lips brushing his ear as he said, “I couldn’t have done it without you, Bits. You and me.”

Eric pulled back, and knowing it was just the game, his heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

*** 

It was the sound of laughter that brought Eric outside a few mornings later. The sun was out, warmer than it had been in a while, and he stepped onto the porch to find Lardo and Ford crouched at the bottom step with something between them.

Leaning his cane against the railing, he peered over Lardo’s shoulder to see the smallest baby duck Eric had ever seen. It was puffy, black and yellow downy feathers all over, quietly nestled in the palm of Ford’s hand.

“Where in the world did you find that?” Eric asked.

Lardo turned her head up, beaming wider than he’d ever seen her smile. “So that animal rescue over on fourth found it with a broken foot and they said we can keep it! Haus duck!”

“Oh lord have mercy,” Eric muttered, but when Ford shifted over, Eric sat down next to her and let her push the small bird into the palm of his hand. It was warm, and so small, and felt so fragile as it nestled against his fingers. “We’re really gonna have a haus duck?”

“Yep. I want to call it Fluffy the Second, but L keeps telling me I can’t.”

Eric snorted. “You need something more…”

“Ducky,” Lardo said, reaching over her girlfriend to run her finger over the duck’s head. “Like Howard. Except not because that movie gave me nightmares for half my childhood.”

“Not Donald,” Eric muttered.

Ford laughed. “Hell no.” She hummed, tracing her finger over the duck’s soft back. “Is there like…a god of ducks or something?”

“Well,” Lardo said, considering, “there’s Horus. He wasn’t the duck god, but he was pretty bad ass. He was a falcon sometimes, and the god of the hunt. I feel like our little haus duck is going to be pretty vicious.”

Eric laughed. “Sounds about right.” He paused, then said, “Does Jack know?”

“No, but since Horus isn’t a goose, I don’t think he’s going to care,” Lardo said with a sniff.

“Oh lord,” Eric said again. Letting the small duck nestle in his hand was doing quite a lot to take the edge off the twisting ache in his stomach, but not really enough. He wanted…something. More. An answer or a fierce rejection—something that might allow this to all just…stop.

“Here, sweetheart,” Eric said, nudging Ford’s arm. She turned her palm back up, and Eric carefully tipped the bird back into her hand. He pushed himself up, grabbing his cane, and paused in the kitchen to wash up.

He needed to do something, set something into motion, whether it was him getting over Jack, or moving out, or moving on. Glancing up at the clock, he saw it was near eleven, which likely meant Jack and whomever else was home would be down in the basement working out.

He made his way to the lift, then hit the button, and took several deep, calming breaths as he was slowly lowered beneath the haus. When the lift doors opened, he could hear faint music coming from someone’s iPod speakers, and he headed further into the room to see Chris on the bike, the muscles in his arms flexing as he pedalled faster and faster.

Jack was on the floor near the weight bench, his legs off, his thighs in the air as he pushed up and down on his arms. Eric’s mouth went dry at the bulging muscles, at the beads of sweat dripping down Jack’s temples. His hair was a wreck, and his cheeks were pink from exertion, and Eric couldn’t help but think about Jack looking like that for…other reasons.

Shit.

He was so gone.

“Hey, Bitty!”

Eric snapped out of his head and turned to Chowder who was leaning over for his water bottle. “Did you come to work out with us?”

Eric shook his head, glancing back at Jack who had flipped over, and was now pushing himself up onto the weight bench for what looked like would be a series of crunches. Like his abs needed to look any better. Fuck.

“Um,” Eric said, and tore his gaze away. “Um…no. I was…I wanted to talk to Jack.”

Jack paused mid-crunch and frowned. Eric supposed it was a reasonable reaction since Eric had been avoiding him. “What’s up?”

“Um. Ch—checking practise,” Eric blurted, scrambling for something that didn’t sound like a date. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I need…uh. Checking practise.”

Jack pushed himself up to sit, reaching for a dry flannel to mop up the sweat from his forehead. “Uh. Okay? But you’ve been doing great.”

“Right. I have, yes,” Eric said, sounding like some fumbling fool from a sitcom with a laugh track. “I have but…I had a nightmare um. And I think I might…freak out again.”

Jack’s jaw set resolutely and he nodded. “Okay. Tomorrow we can…”

“No,” Eric said, a little too loud and a little too quick. He flushed again. “I mean…I…tomorrow I’m busy so can we…”

Jack glanced over at the wall clock, then at Chris who was reaching for his chair. “Hey, C, do you mind if we cut this short? I have a meeting later with one of my students, but if Bittle wants to head down to Faber…”

“Go ahead,” Chowder said, waving Jack away with a grin. “Honestly I kind of want to just veg on the couch for a while. Lily’s having one of her days and Cait’s mom is visiting and yeah. This is kind of a vacation for me.”

Eric gave him a tiny smile. “Y’all remember that I’m a free babysitter, right? And being that I don’t live with a screaming toddler I probably have more patience than the two of you.”

Chowder laughed. “I know, Bitty. And we appreciate it, seriously. Let me talk to Cait and see when she might want to go out, okay?”

Eric nodded, then turned back to Jack who was reaching for his legs. “So uh. I’m sorry to make you stop so early but…”

“Bittle,” Jack said, and his lips quirked up in a tiny smile. “It’s really fine. You need the help and I promised I had your back. Whatever you have going on, we’ll work through it.”

“Thanks,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. He so desperately wanted to believe that was true, but he just couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel with this one.

*** 

So distracted by his thoughts, Eric forgot to fake a panic on the ice for so long, Jack stopped midway through running him into the boards, and frowned. “You seem to be doing fine,” he said.

Eric flushed, and fumbled for an excuse. “Well I um…”

“Maybe working with me is pointless because you know I can’t hurt you.”

Eric felt his throat tighten. “You mean won’t,” he corrected, his voice a little dry.

Jack shook his head. “Can’t, Bittle. I…there’s no way I could hurt you.”

The sincerity pierced through him like an actual, gaping wound, leaving him bleeding out on the ice. He lifted a trembling hand to his face, the glove rough against his skin, and he blew out a puff of air. “We should stop for the day. I think….I think we should um…”

“Okay,” Jack said. He was softer now, offering kind smiles, holding the swinging door for Eric to push his sledge through. They disembarked, and Jack pushed into his wheelchair, heading a few paces in front of Eric who leant hard on his cane, more for his hammering heart than his legs.

They washed up, changed clothes, and headed out of Faber without saying much to each other at all. 

At the exit, Jack checked his watch again and sighed. “Are you okay?”

Eric let out a tense laugh, shaking his head. “Not really? But um…I’m trying to get there. I just…I’d like to talk to you.”

Jack cocked his head to the side. “Okay. But I have that meeting. Can we talk later? Maybe Annie’s? I’ll buy you a pumpkin thingie.”

“Latte,” Eric said automatically, and Jack smiled. Eric was hit with it suddenly—this was their routine. Jack saying ridiculous things, Eric correcting him in a huff, just to see Jack smile and…

And shit.

“What time?” he finally managed to ask.

“Six,” Jack said with a firm nod. “I can be there at six sharp.”

“Okay.” Eric said, then breathed out a sigh. “Okay,” he said again. He followed Jack back to his truck for a ride home, then stood on the front steps of the haus until he couldn’t see the glow of brake lights in the distance anymore.

As he turned to head inside, he got the faint scent of weed, and he could hear Shitty’s cackling somewhere from the reading room. It took a few minutes, but he was up to his room as quickly as he could get there, and pushed at the window until it opened. Shitty was there alone, ending a call on his phone before shoving it into his pocket and reaching for his pipe.

He saw Eric after a second, and sat up. “Mother fucking Bits. Get your sweet little Georgia ass out here and join me. I could use a cuddle.”

Eric let out a dry laugh as he crawled across the roof. “Yeah. Yeah, Shitty. Me too.”

Shitty wrapped him in a hug, tugging him close as he frowned. “Who the fuck put that look on your face? I’m in the mood for kicking someone’s ass.”

Eric let out another laugh, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t kick his ass if I told you.”

“Try me,” Shitty pressed.

And Eric wanted to keep his damn mouth shut. Wanted to just keep it to himself until he figured out what the hell he was going to do but…well… “It’s Jack.”

Shitty reared back, his eyebrows in a deep frown. “What? What the fuck? I thought he was over being an ass.”

“He is,” Eric said miserably, pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “That’s the problem.”

“Okay you’re gonna have to be a little more clear because I’m pretty fuckin’ stoned and I’m not following.” Shitty punctuated his sentence with another hit. Blowing out a huge puff of smoke, he said, “Start from the beginning.”

“Well the beginning is Jack hating me, then not hating me and being so nice that my pathetic, gay brain decided to go and get a huge crush on a straight guy.”

Shitty blinked at him. “….oooooh. Shit.”

Eric let out a frustrated laugh. “Yeah. I thought maybe seeing him with Camilla would make it easier, you know? Like I’d just move on because goddamn it, Shitty. I spent enough time in high school living the gay angst tragedy of being in love with straight football players. I don’t need this.”

Shitty cocked his head to the side, considering. “Did Jack tell you he was straight?”

“No,” Eric said, scowling. “And that isn’t the point.”

Shitty raised his brows. “It isn’t?”

“No,” Eric repeated, now exasperated. “The point is, Jack isn’t interested in me, and I can’t seem to get over this crush, and the more he’s…the more he’s my friend the worse it’s getting and I feel like I’m suffocating on all this…feeling.”

“That’s rough, brah. You might want to talk to him about it, though.”

“I’m trying,” Eric admitted. “I tried to this afternoon at checking practise, but I couldn’t get the words out. Then he had a meeting so um…so I’m going to say something. Tonight. We’re meeting at Annie’s.”

“Another one of your dates,” Shitty pointed out.

“Except they’re not dates, and that’s the problem,” Eric said, dragging a hand through his hair. “I want them to be, and they’re not. And some day Jack is going to meet some gorgeous woman he really likes, and they’ll fall in love, get married, have a family. Whatever. And it’s going to kill me.”

Shitty considered this for a long while, then said, “I don’t…necessarily think that’s in Jack’s future. That’s not to say it isn’t possible, but you might be reading a little too much into whatever you think you see in that crystal ball of yours.”

Eric blinked at him. “I mean okay. I know I’m getting lost in the worst possible fantasy but…” He shrugged. “I’ve seen at least one person he’s dated and that person wasn’t…well she wasn’t anything like me.”

“And they weren’t dating,” Shitty reminded him. “They hadn’t been actually dating in a long time. It didn’t work out for a reason.”

“Well the reason isn’t because he was falling head over heels for his disaster of a hausmate,” Eric said. He pushed up to his hands and knees and sighed. “I’m going to take a nap before it’s time to go. I need…I need to sort this out.”

“Just maybe don’t jump to conclusions when you talk to him,” Shitty said as Eric crawled toward the window. “And maybe don’t put words in his mouth.”

Eric looked back at him for a long moment, wondering if Shitty was trying to tell him something. In the end, though, Shitty just looked and sounded stoned, and there was nothing more to read into it except sage advice from someone who cared about them both.

*** 

Eric nearly slept through his alarm, and he couldn’t do more than throw a beanie over his hair, a sweater over his rumpled t-shirt, and hop into his chair for the long trek to Annie’s.

It was cold out, making his body ache, but he made it in time to see Jack walking in ahead of him. He slowed his chair down to watch as Jack queued up at the counter, and paused in the shadows, watching as Jack eventually took two drinks to a table which would give him a clear view of the door.

Eric had half a mind to leave, to just…go somewhere and call his momma and just ghost. But he knew that wasn’t in his nature. He wouldn’t be capable of it, not knowing how badly Jack would be hurt. With a breath, he gathered as much courage as he could, and he headed inside.

He pretended not to see the way Jack’s eyes lit up when he came in, or the way Jack scrambled to get the chair out of the way so Eric could push his chair up to the table without having to swap seats. Eric pretended Jack wasn’t wearing his most adorable, chirpy smile as he set eyes on Eric’s beanie, and the sweater which was inside out.

“Should I even ask, Bittle?” Jack said.

Eric poked at the seam of his sweater and shook his head. “No. You really shouldn’t. Thanks for the latte.” He took a long sip, and savoured the cinnamony taste of pumpkin. “I needed this.”

“I’m sure you actually don’t,” Jack said, then snatched it from his hands and took a drink, pulling a face as he handed it back. “Seriously, do you want some coffee with your milk and syrup.”

“Chirp chirp,” Eric said, but without the same lightness to his tone. Jack seemed to notice, and he frowned. “Is something wrong?” His hands were on the table, one curled round his mug, the other loose and close to Eric’s.

Feeling daring, uncertain and scared, Eric shifted his hand minutely closer. Then closer, until they were touching. Jack startled a little, but Eric kept going until his fingers were laced with Jack’s. There was no tension. Jack didn’t pull away.

But he didn’t look particularly interested, either.

He was humouring him. That much was obvious, and it stung. It pulled at the already open wound in his heart, and he sighed, taking his hand back. “Um. I have to…” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “I’m moving out.”

Jack froze, his eyes wide, his lips parted just slightly. “You…you’re what?”

“I got a job offer in um. In Georgia. Workin’ at my old high school. My momma sent me the link and um. I’m gonna take it.” It took him a moment to be brave enough to hold Jack’s gaze.

Jack looked stunned, and more than confused. “Bittle I…why?”

“Because y’all have been great, but I think I’m more of a burden here than a help. To the haus or the team. And um…and it’s a better opportunity for me and…”

“You’ve never been a burden,” Jack said, low and fierce.

Eric couldn’t help a sharp laugh. “That’s not what you thought a few months back.”

“Well that was idiot Jack, and he doesn’t live here anymore,” Jack said. “This Jack says that he doesn’t want to play without you.”

“Lord,” Eric said, unable to stop his smile. “I…that means the world to me, hon. It does. But I…there are things here that I…” He swallowed thickly. “Sometimes things that feel nice are also the things that slowly bleed you dry. A fantasy you know you’ll never be able to have and…and knowing there’s no future for you and hi—and it…” He swallowed. “I don’t think I’ll survive it. Georgia isn’t my favourite place, but it’s still home. Sort of. And I…think I need to go back. I’m…I’m sorry, Jack.” He wheeled back from the table. “Thank you for the latte. We can talk more later but I’m…I have to go.”

Then he turned, and he was out.

A tiny part of him broke even further when he realised no footsteps followed him home.

*** 

“…surrounded by your…” He swiped his hand under his nose as he shoved socks into his case. “…can see your halo…”

“Bittle?”

Eric stopped just for a second, not sure he heard his name under Beyonce’s sweet tones in his ears. After a second, nothing.

“…I can see your halo…halo…”

“Bittle!”

Eric startled, ripping his earbuds out as he turned. Jack was in his doorway, pink cheeked and sweating, holding the frame like he might topple over. He looked the same as Eric had seen him not an hour ago only…there was something different in his eyes.

Eric felt his phone topple from his hand to the bed as Jack pushed into the room, and shut the door. His jaw was working, tight, tense and his face looked a little…afraid? Eric’s heart was thumping in his chest.

“Goodness, sweetheart. Did you _run_ here? In the cold with your legs achin’ and…”

“Bittle,” Jack said again. “Bitty.”

Eric felt his throat go tight as Jack was there, stood in front of him, close enough to touch. “You could have texted,” Eric whispered.

Jack hesitated for only a second more. Then his hand was on Eric’s cheek, holding him firm, like a ballast. Then Jack’s mouth was on his. Soft, pressing, a little cold from the night air, but perfect. It was everything and nothing like Eric had pictured over the last few months and he couldn’t stop the whimper from escaping his throat as Jack’s hand moved to the small of his back, tucking him in closer, tighter.

The kiss kept going, breaking for only a second as Jack pulled back to look at him, for confirmation that Eric wanted. And god…god he _wanted_. Then they were kissing again, and backing up to Eric’s bed. The mattress was firm beneath him, and it was the small bounce which made him realise they had fallen onto it. The duvet bunched up near their feet, and still they were kissing.

It wasn’t until Jack’s phone began to buzz incessantly in his pocket that they broke apart, and Jack breathed out a heavy sigh, his forehead pressing to Eric’s. “Please don’t leave.”

“Jack,” Eric muttered, holding tight to the front of Jack’s shirt like if he let go, suddenly Jack might disappear. “What…”

“I should have asked um…before I kissed you, I know. But after you left, I called my dad because I’m…shit, Bittle, I’m no good at understanding these things. But he told me that it sounds like you might ah…might reciprocate my feelings. So I went for it. I’m sorry.”

“Oh lord on high do not be sorry, Jack Zimmermann,” Eric said, which was better than laughing or crying—and he wanted to do both. “I’ve wanted that for so long now.”

Jack pulled back, his smile reaching his eyes as he cupped Eric’s cheek again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eric breathed out. “I…the reason I was leaving was because I thought…I’d just been head over heels for you for so long and I didn’t think I’d survive another day not being able to have you.”

“You have me,” Jack murmured, then he went in for another kiss, this one a little desperate, as though he had to keep kissing until Eric understood him. “You have me. You’ve had me for a while now. So please…please don’t go.”

Eric pulled back just enough to smile, and to say right against Jack’s mouth, “Oh honey. After this, there’s no way I’m goin’ anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHH!! Finally. That felt so good I can't even tell you with proper words.
> 
> Up next: [redacted]. Jack and Bitty talk some more about their feelings. Then more [redacted]. Roadie with the SMSH boys, and debating who they're going to tell, and when.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mature/NSFW Content warning for this chapter-- not explicit, but certainly not gen.
> 
> This is mostly fluff and [redacted] and the two of them talking about feelings and junk.

“So what um…” Eric paused, getting lost in Jack’s eyes again for the fifth time since they’d been trying to have the dang conversation. He was cross-legged on his bed, back up against the wall, with Jack head pillowed against his left thigh. Eric’s hand had been weaving in and out of Jack’s hair, and though he was trying his best to make words, he kept getting lost in the way Jack’s cheeks were mottled pink, and the way his lips were bitten, red, and a little swollen from earlier.

He scowled when Jack snickered at him, but the scowl quickly melted into something else as Jack turned his head and kissed the inside of Eric’s thigh. Eric shivered at the warm press of lips, and let his nails drag along Jack’s scalp.

“Honey, we really need to have this talk,” Eric said, a little breathy as Jack’s mouth climbed a little higher.

Jack groaned, but tore himself away, and shifted up so he was resting higher, closer to Eric’s stomach. “Alright, Bits.” His hand snaked up, just under the hem of Eric’s t-shirt, his hand brushing along Eric’s ribs.

“I just…what are we doin’?”

“Right now, or is it more of an existential thing, or…”

Eric smacked him on the arm. “You know what I mean, Mr Zimmermann. Us. You and me. Is this…are we…dating? Foolin’ around?”

Jack let out a tiny breath, tucking himself, if possible, even closer. “I don’t…” He bit his lip, then glanced up with almost shy eyes. “I like you. I’ve…liked you for a while, and I guess I wasn’t as obvious as I thought I was being.”

Eric couldn’t help a laugh. “Honey, I thought you were straight.”

Jack pushed up on his elbow, his eyes wide. “Even after…all the coffee dates? Baking together…all of that?”

Eric shrugged. “I guess I…I mean it was my own fault for assuming but…after I met Camilla, I just figured you were straight. No one ever said different, and she’s the only person I ever heard you were dating…”

“You…you overheard Parse,” Jack pointed out.

Eric flushed. “I sort of thought um…maybe what he said was one sided? You didn’t exactly confess your former love during that conversation.”

Jack sighed, deflating back down against Eric’s lap. “Well…no. I didn’t. I um…I should have come out to you, Bittle. I’m sorry.”

Eric frowned, shaking his head. “Sweetpea, no. No, you did not owe me a coming out, okay? And well…” Eric huffed a laugh as he dragged curled knuckles along the cut of Jack’s jaw, revelling in the almost-sharp feel of his five o’clock shadow. He briefly wondered what a little bit of beard-burn might feel like against his thighs, then shuddered and tore his thoughts back to their talk. “You told me in time, didn’t you?”

Jack rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to Eric’s side where he could reach. “Barely. I almost…crisse I can’t imagine what I’d have done if you had gone.”

Eric cocked his head to the side, looking down at him. “Followed me to Georgia?”

Jack couldn’t help a tiny chuckle as he grabbed Eric’s hand, pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist, his palm, against the pad of each finger. “I probably would have. I get chirped for being a hundred and ten percent and for you, I’d probably have gone two hundred and ten.”

“Lord, this boy,” Eric muttered fondly. He shifted so he could lay down next to Jack, curling up toward him, letting their bodies fit in a natural tangle. With his legs off, Jack fit his shorter stump between Eric’s thighs, tucking his longer one—crooked at the knee—round the bend in Eric’s leg. Eric felt warm all over, his desire for more a quiet hum in the back of his mind. Mostly he was just content, for the moment, to lie with Jack like this. To know he could have it now, that he had it, that Jack was just as much in this as he was. “I’m sorry I…reacted the way I did without saying something first. I just…I was hurtin’ and I didn’t want to anymore.”

“I could have done better too, Bitty,” Jack murmured. He was still gently playing with the tips of Eric’s fingers. “The night Parse showed up… I um. I think I knew then that I wanted more. I mean, probably before then, but at the party I just…” He shrugged. “I kept thinking, I could lean down and kiss him, and it felt good. I wanted to. And then…”

“Then Parse showed up and it all got a little lopsided?” Eric offered.

Jack nodded, letting out a small breath. “Something like that. But you…you stayed. You heard all that, you saw me at my weakest, and you stayed.”

“Oh honey,” Eric said, pushing forward to nuzzled against Jack’s neck. “Of course I stayed. Lord, even if I hadn’t been head over heels, I would have stayed. You were hurting.”

Jack pushed his fingers through Eric’s hair gently, then eased him back. “Is that what you are? Head over heels?”

Eric blushed. “Don’t you chirp me right now. Lord have mercy, this is not the time.”

Jack laughed, pressing a kiss to the tip of Eric’s nose. “I’m not. It’s…it feels good to hear that you feel the same.”

Eric let his eyes close, just basking in the moment. “I mean, I don’t have the most experience or anything, so what do I know but...”

Jack cupped Eric’s cheek, holding it there. “Having experience doesn’t necessarily mean you know what you want, or what might be good for you. Trust me. I…with Parse we…we were young and stupid and still discovering who the hell we were. It was no good. We thought we were so smart though, big mature boys enjoying our…little secret.”

Eric swallowed thickly. “Jack…”

Jack shrugged. “It was…it’s not something I like to talk about. I mean, youth is always full of bullshit, and when you’re trans, it’s…” He blew out a puff of air. “Maybe in another life, Kenny and I might have been something else to each other. But after that, I was afraid to date for a long time. I didn’t get past anything really beyond Spring C or Winter Screw because it was just…a lot. And cis people made me nervous because it was impossible to know how they really saw me.”

Eric bit the inside of his cheek, then asked, “Do I make you nervous?” When Jack looked at him sharply, Eric said, “I mean that honestly. I don’t…I’ve never dated a trans guy before, and…I won’t blame you. We can take it slow. I want…your comfort, Jack, it’s the most important thing in the world to me. More than how much I want you.”

After a minute, Jack smiled and leant in for another kiss. “We’ll figure it out, Bits. I trust you.”

Eric let himself get lost in the kiss, in the way Jack’s hands were so _big_ and just kind of everywhere, like they were seeking to touch every inch of skin he could find. They shifted closer to each other, on their sides with not a spare bit of room for breath between them. Jack’s mouth tore away from Eric’s, only to drop into the crook of his neck, pressing sucking kisses to the column of his throat, along his collarbone, up to the sensitive spot just under his ear.

Jack kept Eric tucked in close, one hand rubbing against his abs, the other drifting lower, lower on his back until it cupped Eric’s ass with one palm. Eric groaned, grinding his hips, feeling the swell of his hardness push between Jack’s legs. Jack moaned, pushing down against it, rocking softly.

“Is this,” Jack said, a little breathy, a little shaky, “is this okay? I know you’ve never…you said you hadn’t…”

“I haven’t,” Eric said. “Not like…nothing like this. But yes, god…Jack. I want…you have to let me know what’s okay, what to do but…I want everything. All of you.”

Jack groaned, his hips shifting against Eric again, his face falling toward Eric’s neck as he buried his moans in the flush-warm skin there. “I just want to get off like this. Do you mind?”

“No,” Eric said with a sort of breathy laugh. “I don’t think I’m going to last long.”

He didn’t. Neither of them did. They adjusted so Eric’s dick was pushed between Jack’s legs, and they rocked and pushed and then Jack said in a voice so small and so trembling, “I’m coming, oh god I’m…I’m coming.”

And Eric was seconds behind, rubbing off between the crease of Jack’s thighs and pulsing onto sheets like he was a goddamn teenager.

And it was the best he’d felt in so, so long.

“Shit,” Eric said, falling back to wipe at his forehead with a trembling hand. “I made a mess.”

Jack grimaced as he fell back against his pillow. “I think I’m lying in most of it.”

“Sorry,” Eric said, but he was smiling too big to really seem all that sorry. Jack’s quirked brow at him, and the upturn of his lips made it that much better. Especially when he leant back over to kiss him.

“If you get us something to clean up with, I’ll change the sheets. I want…I’d like to stay here with you tonight. If that’s not too much.”

“It isn’t. Lord, Jack, I’ve imagined that so many times it’s embarrassing,” Eric admitted, his sex-stupid brain taking away any semblance of filter he’d ever had.

But Jack didn’t seem to mind it at all. He just reached out, touching Eric’s face for a second, just because he could. Then they shared a sweet kiss, soft pecks across lips, before Eric pushed up and fumbled for the bathroom to find something to wipe themselves down with.

He was back before Jack was done with the bed, but he was pleased to see Jack had found extra sheets in one of the drawers. He was efficient and quick, and soon enough Eric was mopping them up with a warm, damp flannel, and they were crawling back under the duvet.

Jack kept him tucked in close, possessive in a way—similar to how Eric felt. Like maybe if he let go for too long, Jack would suddenly disappear and this would have all been a dream.

Eric knew they had more talking to do. He wasn’t sure how much Jack wanted to be public, who he wanted to tell. The whole haus knowing was a little intimidating. He didn’t want to have some party thrown or a big deal made of things. He’d been pining for so damn long he wasn’t sure he’d hold up to that kind of scrutiny. His hausmates always meant well, but they could be…a lot.

But he also didn’t want to hide, and he certainly didn’t want Jack to think he was unsure or ashamed.

So yes, talking. They needed to talk.

But with Jack’s arms round him tight like this, Jack’s lips pressed easily to the back of his neck, breath even and falling into sleep, Eric found worrying about those things was something he could do later. For now, for however long Jack wanted to, he was content to do only this.

*** 

Boyfriend. The word rattled round in Eric’s head as he bopped along to music as he whipped together pancakes, some fresh fruit, and coffee. Cooking was one of the most sure-fire ways to keep his thoughts in order, and to keep himself from dissolving into a sort of self-doubt-inflicted panic which was threatening to ruin his quiet morning with Jack wrapped round him.

He managed to extract himself from the bed, and make it down to the kitchen in a borrowed, button-up flannel from Jack, and a pair of shorts. Everyone in the haus was either at work or still sleeping, so he was able to use the morning to get himself together.

The night had been amazing—and it was a wonder how he’d spent nearly the entire day before thinking it was all about to come crashing down. He was grateful he hadn’t told his momma for sure he was taking the job—though the phone call he’d have to make to her would be difficult. But with the promise of Jack’s arms around him if he needed comfort made the idea of it a lot easier to bear.

Now that he felt sorted, Eric balanced the tray on one arm, and rode the lift back up to the floor, heading back to Jack’s room. He pushed the door open with his foot, his head poking round, but the bed was now empty, though the covers were mussed and pushed toward the end of the bed.

Eric stepped in further, then glanced over to see the bathroom door ajar, and Jack sat on the toilet with his stump propped on the arm of his wheelchair as he gave himself his weekly jab. Jack was naked save for a pair of briefs, his chest broad, a smattering of hair in the centre, and a little over his nipples. Eric wanted to run his fingers through it, feel the coarseness against his skin, feel Jack’s heat under his lips as he tasted every inch of him.

He shuddered, then gave a sheepish smile as Jack looked up and realised Eric was there. He grinned, unembarrassed, unapologetic as he tossed the syringe into the sharps container, then eased back into his chair. He wheeled back into the room, eyed the tray on the nightstand, then went straight for the bed.

Using his arms, he pushed himself up against the headboard, and cocked his head at Eric. “Joining me?”

Eric bit his lip, nodding a little shyly before he climbed up next to Jack. “Are you hungry?”

“Mm. I could eat,” Jack said, and dove for Eric’s neck, kissing softly. Eric let out a breathy moan, pushing against Jack’s mouth for a moment.

“Me, or food?” Eric said, a little daring.

Jack chuckled against the shoulder he was nibbling at. “Do I have to choose?”

“Well, you can’t have both at the same time. I don’t really want to imagine getting crumbs in…delicate places.”

Jack laughed again, then pulled away, but not before cupping Eric’s cheek gently. “I love the way you talk. Have I ever told you that?”

“No one tells me that,” Eric said, wrinkling his nose. “My accent is terrible.”

Jack’s thumb brushed over Eric’s bottom lip before he leant in and kissed him. “Wrong. I’m going to tell you that, because I do. I love it.”

 _I love you_ , was what Eric’s brain supplied, but he kept his mouth shut for now.

Instead, he pulled the tray over, balancing it between his thigh and Jack’s, and they quickly tucked in, sharing the plate.

“So,” Jack said after a minute, “roadie this Friday. You got the time off, right?”

“I already cleared all the days with work,” Eric said, reaching for his own mug of coffee. It wasn’t sweet enough to stand up to the syrup on the pancakes, but the caffeine was going to be very nice in a few minutes. “I’m excited. Nervous to play on someone else’s ice, though.”

“I always loved roadies,” Jack said, his voice a little wistful. “But I spent so much of my teenage years away from home that being with my parents almost felt like a holiday.”

Eric sighed, leaning his head against Jack’s. “Well…it’ll be nice to be on the road with you.”

Jack reached up, brushing fingers through Eric’s hair. “I…I usually have a single, but I’d like if you shared with me.”

Eric blinked up at him, turning his head slightly. “So you want…I mean. You want to tell everyone or…?”

Jack’s cheeks pinked. “I don’t think we could keep it from them for long. I want…” He hesitated, then said, “I want to wait a little while though. I kind of like it being just us for a few moments. Before they get…involved.”

Eric couldn’t help a tiny laugh. “The moment Shitty learns, we’re going to wake up with him naked in bed with us.”

Jack grinned, popping a piece of strawberry into his mouth. “Exactly. And um…I’ve wanted this for so long, you know? I’d kind of like to be a little…selfish.”

Eric laced their fingers together for a minute, letting his thumb rub against the side of Jack’s hand. “Me too. It’s nice without all the pressure…”

“Or the people yelling at us for deets,” Jack finished for him.

Eric flushed. “Lord. It’s going to be awful, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Jack said solemnly, and when Eric looked at him, his face softened into a fond grin. “But it’ll be worth it.”

Eric swore in that moment, that grin erased any second of pain he’d ever felt over Jack Zimmermann.

*** 

At the sound of the final buzzer, Eric’s heart sank into his stomach. They had four shots on goal in the last three minutes, but they couldn’t sink any in to tie it up. They were surrounded by the screams of excited fans for another team, and it took all of his strength to keep his eyes focused on the exist as he pushed the ends of his sticks into the ice, and followed his team off.

No one said much as they showered off, dressed, and headed for the bus. The hotel wasn’t far, and Eric felt the loss keenly, especially after Jack took a seat near the front with Shitty instead of tucked into his side. Jack was a hockey player, above anything else, and Eric understood the way suspicions and game-time rituals worked. He knew full well hockey players ended relationships if they felt like bad luck.

Fear gripped him, but he carefully followed Chowder to their shared room, and fell down on the bed, his arm flinging over his eye as Chowder wheeled into the bathroom to facetime Cait and Lily.

He was drifting off slightly, trying not to give in to his self-doubt and panic, when there was a soft knock on the door. Eric rose, expecting maybe Nursey or Dex who tended to spend time with Chowder when losses were the worst, but when he flung open the door and saw Jack, he froze.

“Um…”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought…you said you wanted to…” Jack’s eyes flickered toward the end of the corridor where the door led to his single.

Eric blinked at him. “I just assumed…I mean, after the game um…” Eric cleared his throat, and let out a tiny gasp as Jack’s hand reached out, curling round his wrist for a second.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t want you there,” Jack said, very quietly. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a key card, and he pushed it into Eric’s hand. “Only if you want, okay?”

And then he was gone, leaving Eric there in the open door, eyes wide, heart pounding.

He took a minute, and when Chowder came out of the bathroom he said, “Jack wants to talk, so I’m going to hang in his room for a bit. Are you okay?”

Chris smiled at him. “Yeah, no worries. Dex asked if I wanted to come watch a movie in his anyway, and I’ll probably end up crashing there. Hey, maybe next time—if Jack doesn’t mind—you can just room with him!”

Eric flushed, glancing away, letting out a tiny, ‘hah’. “Yeah, uh. Maybe we could. Anyway, have a good night. You tell the boys I’ll be happy to make us all some feel-better pies when we get back.”

Chris held up a fist, and Eric bumped it. “Thanks, Bits. Text me if you need anything.”

Then he was gone, leaving Eric waiting in hesitation until he could no longer stand it. He leant on his cane hard as he rushed down the corridor as fast as he could manage, slipping the key card into the slot, and pushing Jack’s door open.

The room was similar to his own, only one large bed tucked against the wall in the centre of the room. Jack was on it, wearing shorts, a tank-top, legs off, hair mussed. He had a book in his hands, but he was looking up from the pages, smiling softly as Eric stepped into the room, the door closing with a loud click.

“Jack,” Eric breathed.

“Hey, Bits.”

That was all it took, really. Eric abandoned his cane, then crawled onto the bed, letting himself fall into Jack’s arms. He was tucked against his front, his face resting in the crook of Jack’s neck as Jack’s fingers pushed into his hair.

“I’m sorry,” Eric said. “I thought maybe…you’d think it was bad luck? You and me?”

Jack chuckled very softly, leaning in to brush his lips along Eric’s temple. “Mais non, mon bé.”

Eric flushed, and he turned his face up toward Jack with a tiny laugh. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you speak French when you weren’t on a phone call to your parents.”

Jack’s grin widened, his thumb brushing along the cut of Eric’s jaw. “Ah, ouais? Aime-tu m'écouter parle français?”

“Are you chirping me in French? That’s hardly fair,” Eric said with a sniff, in spite of the flush in his cheeks.

Jack laughed, pressing his palm against Eric’s cheek before dipping in to kiss him. “I would never.”

“That is a terrible lie, and I know you think you’re funny but you’re not,” Eric retorted, pinching at Jack’s side until he full-on giggled.

Jack gripped Eric by the hips, rolling him onto his side before perching over him, his arm muscles bulging as he supported himself to dip low, nibbling at Eric’s neck. “You know I’m hilarious.”

“Well, you’re somethin’,” Eric said, then gasped as Jack reached a particularly sensitive spot. “And you’re certainly good with your mouth at some things.”

“Mm,” Jack muttered, kissing lower along Eric’s chest. One hand moved up, pushing at Eric’s t-shirt so he could have access to a bigger stretch of skin. Jack dragged his fingers along Eric’s sides, breathing in deep. “Crisse, you are so beautiful.”

“Oh my god,” Eric said, covering his blush with both hands. “God, Jack. You make me feel…”

Jack looked up, his head cocked to the side. “Good things, I hope.”

Eric dropped his hands, letting his thumb brush just under Jack’s bottom lip. “So many good things. Overwhelming things, but in the best way.”

Jack licked his lips, then glanced down at the tenting happening in Eric’s joggers. “I want to blow you.”

Eric’s eyes widened, and he felt the blood rush from his face, directly south. “Oh uh. Well…yes? I mean…god yes, I want…but can I…can I, too?”

Jack swallowed thickly. “It’s not the same but…but if you want?”

“I want,” Eric said, making sure he was meeting Jack’s gaze. “I really, really want.” Eric pushed with bossy hands, until Jack was on his back, until his fingers were curled round the waistband of his briefs. The fabric was heavy with the packer in the front pocket, and Eric let himself touch it lightly before looking back up at Jack. “Can I?”

Jack bit his lip so hard it turned bright red, but he nodded, his fingers brushing into Eric’s hair. “Yeah. Yes. I’d…I want that.”

“You tell me if I’m doin’ okay? If I’m doin’ anything wrong? Because I want…I want to be good for you, okay?”

“Okay,” Jack breathed, but his tone was encouraging, not nervous. He pushed his hands into the mattress to lift himself up, so Eric could pull the pants down, easing them off to the side. His eyes drifted to the thick, dark curls between his legs, messy and a little wild, and desire pooled in Eric’s belly.

The desire to touch, to taste, was overwhelming him, making his fingers and toes tingle in a way so different than he was used to. He dragged the flat of his palms up Jack’s thighs, then closer to his hips. “With my tongue, right?”

Jack chuckled a little, then brought Eric’s hand between his legs, where he was swollen and throbbing and a little wet. “Here,” he said in a low voice, catching as Eric’s fingers explored. “Like this. Right here.”

Eric followed Jack’s instructions, keeping his eyes fixed on Jack, doing his best to read every minute change of expression as he performed his first blow job. He felt a surge of pride, and wanton desire as Jack’s hand curled against the back of his head, pushing his mouth down harder, gasping, “I’m…fuck, Bits, I’m coming I’m…”

And then he did. Eric tasted some of it as he dragged his tongue lower, the tang of it lingering in his mouth after he pulled away. He didn’t hesitate as Jack drew him closer, spread Eric’s thighs over his own, and kissed him as his hand curled round Eric.

It didn’t take long for Eric, either. Keyed up and turned on, he was spilling only moments later with his face pushed against Jack’s, his hips moving into the circle of Jack’s hand as quick as he could manage.

When it was over, and Eric had found scratchy hotel flannels and tiny hotel soaps to clean them off with, they curled up under the sheets, Jack’s thigh tucked between Eric’s legs. Jack’s fingers ran through Eric’s hair, a gentle, easy motion as they luxuriated in the feel of each other.

“Did I do okay?” Eric asked after a long while.

Jack laughed softly, pushing a kiss to his chin, then his cheek, then his mouth. “You did more than okay. I haven’t come that hard in a long time.”

Eric blushed, pleased, and he pushed himself a little closer against Jack’s chest. “That was um. Wow. I loved it. Giving, I mean. Not that uh…not that what you did wasn’t good Jack, because oh my god, but…”

Jack shook his head with his grin twitching at the corners of his lips, and he brushed his thumb along Eric’s lip to quiet him. “Thank you. I had a feeling sex with you was going to be easy, but it’s nice to know I was right.”

Eric closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, letting it out in a slow hiss. “I’m happy. Lord, I didn’t think I could be this happy.”

Jack hummed, scratching at the short hairs at the back of Eric’s neck. “I’d like to tell my parents, if that’s okay? Before we tell anyone else?”

Eric startled, pushing up just a little so he could look at Jack. “You…really? You want to tell them?”

“I don’t like keeping things from them,” Jack said. “After erm…after everything, you know? And I’ve talked about you before. And I think my dad will be really happy that his advice worked.”

Eric groaned, dropping his forehead to Jack’s chest. “God. Okay. I mean…I’d love that, you know? There was a time in my life I’d never get to ah…to ‘meet the parents’. But lord it’s a little embarrassing.”

“Don’t be. The moment my dad met you, he loved you. He had no hesitation when he told me to take the shot.”

Eric looked up again, a smile on his lips. “I guess I was your lucky shot, wasn’t I?”

Jack groaned, but he pushed Eric back and kissed him. Hard. “I guess you were. I’m glad I took the risk.”

Eric stretched his arms up above his head before dropping them round Jack’s shoulders and holding him tight, kissing back with everything he had. “I’m glad too, sweetheart. I don’t think I’ll ever stop smiling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: NHL v Sledge Hockey for charity, Jack and Bits tell the team, Bitty meets the parents, probably more [redacted]
> 
> I'm attempting to finish this fic by tomorrow evening cos this weekend is 100% dedicated to paper-revisions so there maaaay be another update tonight, otherwise there will be two updates tomorrow with the last chapter, and the epilogue.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is technically the end. Thank you for sticking with it! I had a lot of fun writing this and everyone who commented has been so lovely, I could cry.
> 
> Chapter warnings: more [redacted]

They came out, a week later, just before a massive snowstorm hit. It had been anti-climactic in a way, considering they were obvious about it, and really it was just a relief for Eric that he didn’t have to try and hide the fact that he had fallen so head over heels for Jack that he wasn’t sure up from down anymore.

He’d gone to bed early the night of the storm, Jack staying up to watch a movie with the boys, and he’d lulled himself to sleep with the thought of Jack’s warm arms, and his gentle smile.

_Crash._

_Crash._

“Aww, fuck!”

Eric gripped the edge of the wall, peering round his door, not sure if his MS was flaring so hard that both eyes had lost sight, or if something else was happening. By the sound of the chaos near the bottom of the stairs, he had to assume the latter.

The haus was freezing, a massive blizzard having just hit, and it too Eric a while to realise that the lights were out—along with the heating.

“Y’all, what are you doing down there?” he shouted.

“I was trying to give Rans a ride on my back,” Holster called. “Everyone else was already down.”

“No one in the lift?” Eric demanded.

“No, we’re good. Lardo’s bringing blankets. Can you get down, or do you need someone to come get you?”

Eric felt along the wall til he found the railing, and carefully eased himself down, step-after-step until he reached the bottom floor. It was there his path was vaguely illuminated by the glow of several mobiles, which kept him from tripping on his face.

“Got you,” came Jess’ voice from his right, grabbing his arm. “As I am always blind, I’m the alpha tonight.”

“Oh please,” Ransom muttered from somewhere in the living room, “you know you’re always the alpha. You and Lards have been running the show for years.”

Jess snorted as she carefully eased Eric down into the arm chair. “I mean…fair,” she said, and settled against him. “Good, Bits?”

“Yeah,” he said, giving her arm a squeeze as she cuddled in. “Horus is safe, right?”

“Cuddled up in the basement,” Jess said. “We made him a nest with some towels and hot water bottles, so he’s good for now. We can bring him up once Jack and Nursey get the candles and shit.”

“Candles and shit,” Bitty repeated. “We don’t have flashlights.”

“Our emergency kid is sadly unprepared, brah,” Shitty said from somewhere near the sofa. “But Holtzy accidentally ordered like fifty boxes of Chanukah candles last year and even after we played truth or dare last summer we still have a fuckton left.”

Eric figured it was best not to answer. Lardo came down a minute later, and there was a soft fwump noise as blankets hit the floor. Jess snagged one for Eric before she disappeared, presumably to cuddle with her girlfriend and probably Shitty, so Eric grabbed his own, and nestled into the warm cocoon.

Ten minutes passed before Jack and Nursey showed up, boxes of candles tucked under their arms, Jack holding a lit menorah in one hand, Nursey holding two lit candles, each in their own holder in both of his hands.

“All we’ve got are Chanukah candles and Shabbos candles. They’re gonna burn through quick, but I think it’ll be enough to get everyone situated so no one falls and breaks their necks.” Jack was in full captain mode as he arranged the candles on the table. He paused though, in the dim light searching out Eric and smiling softly when he found him in his nest of blankets. After a moment, he straightened. “Okay,” he turned to Dex who was in the other armchair. “You good, Will?”

“Yeah,” Dex said with a nod. “Just leave my chair close by.”

Jack nodded, then turned to the rest of the group. “Chairs at the edge of the room, make a big nest in the middle of the floor. I have no idea when we’ll get power back so it’s better if we can save enough heat until I can figure out what we’re doing tomorrow.”

“What do you mean?” Eric asked, frowning as he leant forward. He moved to help, but Jack’s firm hand held him in place.

“We got this, Bittle. Everyone knows their job.”

Which was true. The haus was an efficient, well-oiled machine, and within minutes, everyone was situated either on the floor or in a chair, warm and cosy.

“What’s tomorrow?” Eric asked as Jack held out his hand, and tugged Eric into a spot near the edge of the blankets. It was softer than he expected, and it was nice to let his head pillow on Jack’s bicep.

“We’ll know more tomorrow how long we’ll be out of power. And if we can get our cars out of here. If I have to, I’ll get us a hotel in Boston.”

“That’ll be expensive,” Eric murmured as Jack’s hand drifted into his hair.

Jack snorted. “Bits. My parents are obscenely rich. I’m good for it, okay?”

Eric huffed, but nodded and only complained a little as Jack detached himself to get his legs off. He grumbled as Jack eased back down, and Eric manoeuvred them until he was comfortable, feeling safer and warmer, and more loved than he had in a long time.

“Is that like…blasphemy,” he asked in the quiet of the evening as everyone settled in for sleep.

Jack blinked at him in the flickering light. “What? The candles?”

Eric shrugged. “You know. I mean, Chanukah’s over and…”

Jack laughed, cutting him off. “I think G-d understands. Anyway, they’re just candles, Bittle. Just wax and string, and a little bit of fire to keep us safe. Ultimately I think that’s what he’d want for us.”

Eric couldn’t help his tiny smile as he leant in to kiss Jack, then they carefully slipped into a quiet doze.

*** 

The blizzard was awful, and it took some manoeuvring before everyone could get out of the haus. Boston was almost completely booked from the storm, but Jack managed to secure several rooms in a hotel in Providence, which wasn’t too long of a drive. It was bad there, but not nearly as bad as Samwell had been hit, and Eric couldn’t deny the comfort of a long, hot shower as Jack got sucked into a phone call as soon as they were in the room.

By the time he was drying off, Jack was done, lying on the bed with shirt off, his hand over his face. Eric crept up, pressing kisses from Jack’s waistband to his chin, then a slow keep kiss against his mouth. Jack sighed into it, going relaxed, his hands tugging Eric over so he was straddling Jack’s thighs.

When Eric finally pulled away, Jack’s pupils were blown wide, and his cheeks were flush, though he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to take things further. “Hey,” Eric said, brushing fringe away from Jack’s forehead.

Jack smiled at him, toothy but soft and sweet, and god…god, Eric was so in love. “Hey.”

“Everything good?” Eric’s eyes flickered to the side of the bed where Jack had abandoned his phone. “That sounded tense, even if I couldn’t understand it.”

Jack chuckled softly, running the tips of his fingers up Eric’s sides. “Yeah. My dad uh…” He rolled his eyes up with a sigh. “So he’s been trying to get me to set up a game between us and the Falconers.”

Eric blinked at him. “Like…the…the Providence Falconers?”

Jack nodded. “The very same. They’re one of the more uh…well…progressive teams in the NHL. Their GM is a trans woman, lesbian, married to a woman who writes queer young adult fiction. She’s been trying to get the NHL to show more support for a lot of causes, but you know…”

Eric wrinkled his nose, knowing exactly what Jack was talking about when it came to professional sports. “Yeah.”

“Anyway, he thinks it would be a good way to bring more attention to accessible sport, which I mean, I don’t disagree with, but…”

“Is it being around the players?” Eric asked.

Jack shook his head. “Nah. I mean, it might have been tough a few years ago, but I know these guys really well. They’re like family, actually. My dad used to own the Falcs—when I first moved to Samwell, he wanted to be close by. But my dad was not cut out for team ownership,” he finished with a laugh.

Eric had to lean down and kiss him, which he did, lingering for a moment before asking, “So what’s the problem?”

“There isn’t one. I know the guys will be excited, and my dad’s been looking for a reason to come down here since I told him about us.”

Eric flushed. “Oh god. Oh. Right. I would be…meeting the parents.” He rolled over, flopping his head weight onto the bed, one arm flung dramatically over his head. “I don’t think I can. I think I’ll be sick that day.”

Jack laughed, pushing up onto his side, cupping Eric’s cheek. “No you won’t,” he said, and tugged Eric into another kiss. “I want you to meet them. They’re going to love you.”

“What if they don’t,” Eric said, his voice small, and his chest constricting a little. “Fuck. Jack. I mean, you’re like…you’re like way out of my league.”

Jack’s eyes widened, and although Eric thought Jack might actually laugh it off, instead he looked serious, and concerned. He reached for Eric’s hand, spreading his palm wide, kissing the centre of it. “Please tell me you don’t believe that. Eric…”

Eric shrugged, unable to look Jack in the eye. “I just…I’m just me, you know? And you’re you. Gorgeous and wonderful and smart and so good at hockey and…”

Jack quieted him with a soft kiss, just a gentle peck across his lips, lingering at the corner of his mouth. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Eric.” He pulled back slightly, touching Eric’s chin, drawing his gaze back. “I love you.”

Although Eric knew love was involved—knew he was falling, and knew Jack felt the same—they hadn’t really said it. Not like this, open and vulnerable and sincere. Eric felt his eyes immediately go hot, and he sucked in a breath.

“Oh.”

Jack couldn’t seem to help a grin. “I do, and I love them too, and I want you to meet them. I mean…if you don’t want…”

Taking a leaf from Jack’s book, Eric quieted him with a kiss, both hands gently cupping the sides of his face. It only lasted a moment, both of them smiling too wide to get into it too deep, but when Jack pulled away, his eyes were bright and locked on Eric’s face.

“You love me,” Eric whispered.

Jack chuckled. “Yes, I do.”

Eric brushed his thumbs over the rough stubble on Jack’s cheeks, then sighed. “I love you too.”

“You don’t have to,” Jack started, but Eric quickly shook his head.

“I know, sweetpea. But I do, and there’s no point in me holdin’ back from sayin’ it now that I can. I love you. I love you so much.”

Jack pushed his face into the crook of Eric’s neck. “Thank you for being patient, for…giving me another chance after…you know. Everything.”

Eric pushed his fingers into Jack’s hair, holding him close. “Thank you for comin’ after me in the end, when I thought it was over. That was the best kiss of my life.”

“For now,” Jack said when he pulled back, a smirk gentle across his lips. “We have our wedding one to consider. You know…in the future.”

“Oh my god,” Eric said, but he was, yet again, kissed quiet.

*** 

“Wow,” Eric breathed as he stepped up to the rink. It wasn’t the first time Eric had been in a professional arena. He’d skated all over the country when he was younger, but it had been a long time since he’d been anywhere that wasn’t a University campus. His hands brushed along the edges of the wall, then he turned to see Jack not too far off, his phone pressed to his ear. He grinned a Eric, winking, and Eric flushed immediately, turning away to regain his composure.

Dex, who was sat beside him, snorted and Eric rolled his eyes. “Oh hush your mouth.”

“I didn’t say a word,” Dex said, a tiny grin on his lips.

Eric rolled his eyes, then started away to the locker room where they were going to gear up, though they wouldn’t be able to get on sledges until they got on the ice. Faber would have been more ideal, but since the snow had nearly shut the city down, they were making do.

When Eric exited the locker room, he found Jack in a wheelchair near the entrance to the rink. His sledge was propped up on the side, and he was talking to two incredibly tall men, both of whom Eric had seen on TV and posters.

“Hey Bittle,” Jack said, beckoning him over. “This is Alexei Mashkov and Sebastien St Martin. Tater and Marty,” he clarified.

Eric shook both their hands. “Nice to meet y’all. Have you done this before?”

“Play on sledge?” Tater asked, then laughed, clapping Marty on the shoulder. “I’m see it play before, but never try. Thinking I could be good. Better than old guy, you know.”

Eric laughed. “I guess we’ll see. Hopefully they made buckets large enough for y’all. I’ve seen those hockey asses. Jack had to get his specially made.” He winked this time, making Jack blush, but Jack didn’t drop his gaze.

“I guess we should get started, eh?” Jack said.

Marty eyed Eric, then looked at Jack and spoke in a long string of very rapid French, making Jack’s blush deepen. But again, he looked determined as he nodded, then shrugged, then answered back, though Eric had no hope at all of understanding.

A camera crew showed up not long after, and as everyone was getting into their sledges, Jack made a noise in the back of his throat, sighing as his name was shouted across the rink.

Eric’s eyebrows shot up as he looked, and realised it was Bob coming in, dragging a sledge behind him. “Here we go,” Jack muttered, though his lips were twitching.

“Has he done this before?” Eric asked.

Jack sighed, dragging a gloved hand down his face. “Yes. He enjoys it. Too much,” he added, and Eric had to laugh as Bob enthusiastically tried to strap himself into the sledge. He fell several times, which prompted the on-ice assistants to get him sorted, but soon enough the Samwell team was giving a basic lesson to the Falcs who were falling all over the place.

Snowy, the Falc’s goalie, looked particularly intimidated, but Chowder was patient as ever as he gave him the run-down of how it worked. There was a lot of laughter, and a lot of absurd shots taken, but eventually they got it together enough for a scrimmage.

Bob ended up captaining the Falcs, which the TV crew was getting good shots of as the Zimmermanns faced off with each other. Eric was trying his best to concentrate, but there was something about father and son playing off each other. Jack was better, but Bob wasn’t bad himself, and it was almost a one-on-one competition at times.

The Falcs, of course, didn’t managed to get a single goal against Chowder, and Snowy only managed to stop two shots, and by the time they were done, everyone was sweating and swearing.

Tater, who hadn’t managed to stay upright most of the time, slid up to Eric and shook his head. “Little B, I’m tell you, I practise more, yeah? I’m come by, you teach me.”

Eric laughed. “Yeah, sure.”

“Not telling jokes, B,” Tater said, his face solemn. “Always want to play Zimmboni, you know? So I’m learn, then I can beat him after I’m best. Russian always best.” He winked, then managed to get himself near the exit so he could be unstrapped and eased off the ice.

It was a bit more of an ordeal than it usually was at Faber, but an hour later they were all showered and dressed, and heading out for dinner. Jack looked mildly uncomfortable, and Eric’s fatigue was starting to hit him pretty hard, the closer it was getting to his treatment time.

They sat squashed together, their knees knocking under the table, and as Bob recounted a few of baby Jack stories everyone wanted to hear, Eric leant his head on Jack’s shoulder and slumped against him.

“Bits?” Jack asked quietly.

“Sorry,” Eric said. “This was a lot of fun. I’m just…” He yawned. “Everything aches.”

Ignoring the rest of the table, Jack carefully pushed Eric’s hair back away from his forehead. “We should get you back to the room.”

“I can go myself,” Eric said with a tiny laugh. “Honey, you stay, enjoy the team.”

“Let him pamper you,” Bob said softly, his voice cutting through their private conversation. “If you leave him here, he’ll just mope and worry until we put him out of his misery and send him to bed.” After a beat, “Trust me, as much as he hates it, I know my son.”

Jack groaned, but he didn’t argue, and after a handful of chirps and accusations of owing fines, Jack and Eric excused themselves and made their way back to their room. It was nice to have the warmth, and the privacy, though Eric was missing the haus.

Still, with Jack’s warm fingers tugging at his shirt and jeans, slowly undressing him, it was hard to complain much about being homesick. Jack carefully eased him down to the covers, then sat at the edge of the bed to undress. He leant his legs up against the nightstand, then carefully made his way up Eric’s body, kissing as he went.

“Hey,” Jack murmured once he got to Eric’s mouth.

Eric grinned against his lips. “Hey, you.”

Jack’s hand brushed up and down Eric’s bare chest, carefully toying at the waistband of his pants. “Do you want to sleep? You said you were tired.”

“Mm, I am,” Eric said. “But that’s not sayin’ I’m not up for a little something. So to speak.”

Jack snorted, then pushed the heel of his palm up and down along Eric’s erection. “Yeah?”

Eric squirmed under the touch. “Are you…do you want to?”

“Maybe just handjobs?” Jack suggested. “Then see how we feel in the morning?”

As Jack’s hand delved under Eric’s waistband, and as Eric’s fingers began their own search, he found he wasn’t opposed to the idea at all.

*** 

With morning came the announcement that the several thousand homes in Samwell had power again, and that Alicia had finally made it into Providence, and was wondering if Jack and Eric wanted to meet them for a late brunch before everyone headed back.

“I’d love to meet your momma,” Eric said after Jack brought it up.

Jack smiled, his cheeks lightly pink, and he tapped his reply before throwing his phone down at the foot of the bed and nuzzling back up to Eric. “They’ll meet us at eleven. Everyone else is going to head back without us.”

“Mm, so a whole afternoon to ourselves? We should make a day of it,” Eric said.

Jack’s smile was bright, making his entire face light up. “I’d like that. We could play tourists. Sight-see.”

Eric rolled his eyes. “Lord, this boy. It’s like two hundred below zero out there, Jack Laurent.”

Jack couldn’t help his laugh as he nipped at Eric’s neck, his hand tracing lines along his ribs. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You love it.”

Jack pulled back to look at Eric, his face smiling, but eyes serious. “Yes. I do.”

It was like being punched in the gut with affection. It took Eric’s breath away, and it was a lot, but it was also something he wanted to feel all the time. He didn’t ever want it to get old. Tipping his head back, he parted his lips just as Jack’s made contact with them, and the kiss was sweet, but deep, making his toes curl.

Jack’s fingers were like magic, drawing moans and gasps out of him as they found every sensitive spot on his body. It was when Jack’s hand cupped his balls, gently rubbing against his perineum, that Eric’s head fell back and he asked, “Is…can you…top? With um…”

“Yes,” Jack said, from behind a soft moan. His hips stuttered, almost desperate for friction, and Eric turned so he could push his leg between Jack’s thighs, letting him grind down. “Fuck…I didn’t bring…” He panted a little, canting his hips and shivering. “At home though…if you want. I mean…only if you want.”

“I’ve never,” Eric said, then laughed. “I mean obviously, I’ve never. But I want to try with you. As long as we can go slow.”

“Whatever you need,” Jack said, brushing his fingers along the cut of Eric’s jaw. “I swear, whatever you need, okay?” He kissed Eric again, then grabbed his hand and pushed it downward. “Touch me now?”

Eric couldn’t help his smile as he did. “I’ve got you baby. Let me make you feel good.”

*** 

Eric was grateful for the shower they could take before meeting Jack’s parents, even if a couple of blowjob exchanges occurred. It had been somewhat awkward since the hotel didn’t have the most accessible showers, so Eric found himself half-drowned as Jack lay back in the tub and Eric worked Jack up until his jaw was aching. But it had been worth it to feel Jack pulsing under his tongue, his fingers digging into Eric’s shoulders so hard they nearly bruised.

Jack was quick to return the favour, propping Eric up on the side of the tub and swallowing him down until Eric was all-but shouting with pleasure. They washed up after that, though, and with neatly combed hair, and proper attired for the cold, they met the Zimmermanns just down the street at a posh champagne brunch.

“So, Eric,” Alicia said, smiling across the table in a way that was disarming, but also a little terrifying, “Jack tells us you’re a librarian.”

Eric bit his lip. “Ah, well. Yes. I…was working there during my grad degree, but I got real sick halfway through and ended up having to drop out. The school was real nice though, and they’ve worked with my hours and stuff, and I do love it.”

“Do you ever think about going back?” Bob asked, ignoring Jack’s pointed stare which seemed to say, ‘stop grilling my boyfriend.’

Eric shrugged. “Actually, yeah. The treatments I’m on have been real helpful. I’m still sick after each one, but if I did something online, I feel like I could get through it.”

Jack blinked at him. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“Well,” Eric said, nibbling on the end of a bit of smoked salmon, “we’ve been kind of distracted.” A quiet fell over the table, and Eric’s face bloomed bright red. “Oh my lord, not like _that_. With…with games, and practise. Hockey. Lord…”

“Okay, okay,” Bob said with a chuckle. “We get it.”

“If you scare him off,” Jack said, his voice low, accent a bit heavier than usual, “I will come for you both, I swear.”

Bob said something in French, which made Jack glower harder, and then he laughed. “Eric, please know this just means we love you.”

Eric snorted. “Y’all forget I come from a giant southern family. This bit of chirping isn’t anything I can’t handle. Besides, if I can handle this one when he thinks I’m going to mess up the rhythm of his team, I can handle anything.”

Jack blushed this time, but he didn’t look as apologetic as he usually did when Eric chirped him about when they first met. Instead he just pressed a little closer to Eric, even as he reached over and stole a drink of his latte.

At the end of the meal, Bob pulled Eric close for a hug, muttering in his ear, “I haven’t seen him smile like that in years. I just…want to say thanks.”

“I haven’t smiled in a long time either,” Eric told him. “So whatever else you did in life, you also raised an amazing man. Just…never forget that.”

Bob’s eyes went a little wet and a little red, and Eric allowed him the courtesy of turning away so he could compose himself. He exchanged hugs and twitter handles with Alicia, and soon enough they were on their way, and Jack and Eric found themselves sat on a park bench. It was cold, but the sun was finally out, and they could hold hands in public and Eric could lean against his boyfriend, and there was no longer a fear there that someone might see, and say something to his parents, and leave him completely alone.

This. This was what he’d always been working toward. Love, companionship, the idea of a future. Once upon a time he thought he’d never have that—from being the gay son of a conservative couple—and then from his body falling apart and not being able to do anything about it. He wasn’t sure anyone would love him in spite of it all. And now he found Jack who loved him with everything, exactly as he was, completely whole.

“Did you mean what you said before?” Eric asked.

Jack looked at him out of the side of his eye, then said, “You mean about the dick…”

“Oh my god,” Eric breathed, then elbowed him when he realised Jack was smirking. “Why do you like making me blush.”

“Because you’re gorgeous when you do it,” Jack said.

“Liar,” Eric said, a little breathy as Jack played with his fingers. “And, Mr Dirty Mind, that is not what I meant. I um…when you said um…” He flushed and looked down at their joined hands. “The bein’ married thing.”

“Our wedding kiss,” Jack murmured.

Eric nodded. “I…it was real romantic, but I just want you to know that I don’t expect…”

“Bittle,” Jack said, his voice captain-y and firm, but full of affection. He turned so he could look at Eric properly. “I know we just started this, and I don’t want to rush things. I want to be comfortable and I want to take it at our own pace. But I also know that this is it for me. I don’t…I don’t feel like this often, or ever. And I’m not stupid enough to let it go. Not without a fight. So yeah, I do want to marry you some day. We don’t have to make it a big thing, or I can…I can get the Falcs to do one of those little dance party video surprises that people like so much…”

“Oh lord,” Eric whispered, covering one blushing cheek with the palm of his hand. “First of all, Mr Zimmermann, Flash-Mob proposals are so two thousand-fifteen. And secondly, no. No thank you. I think whatever we do, I’d like it quiet. Just between us.” Jack grinned at him, and Eric shook his head. “Lord I think that was…very nearly a proposal.”

Jack cupped Eric’s cheek and tugged him close. “It very nearly was.”

“You’d better kiss me right now before I embarrass myself,” Eric warned, and Jack laughed before doing exactly that. When he pulled away, he pushed their noses together. “Thank you for loving me.”

“Oh sweetpea,” Eric said, holding tight. “I don’t think there’s anything else I _could_ do with you. And I know there certainly isn’t anything else I’d want to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: short future-fic epilogue.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> about 700 words of gross, pointless fluff. Please enjoy.

Eric winced at the sound of the three year old’s sharp laugh, and shook his head as he watched her race across the yard after the duck who was quacking loudly. A moment later, Alice plopped down, and Horus climbed into her lap, settling in the crook of her bent legs.

“You know, when Jack told me they had a duck…” Alicia shook her head, sipping on her wine.

“Oh lord, you tell me about it,” Eric said, waving his hand at her. “I come outside one day and find Jess and Larissa cuddlin’ away at this tiny little thing. Lord do I miss that haus.”

“Well you’re not far from it,” Alicia pointed out. “And didn’t they ask you to stay?”

Eric snorted. “They did, but I didn’t think it was going to be appropriate to bring a baby home to a place that had bong water spilt on the coffee table. We visit enough. Just sometimes I get nostalgic for those old days.”

“Before the decapitated barbies hanging in your shower?” Alicia offered.

Eric laughed. “Jack sent you those pictures?”

“Oh, he did,” Alicia replied. She reached over, taking Eric’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Are you two planning on giving me anymore babies?”

Eric laughed, his thumb reaching under his palm to press against his wedding band. “We still have some eggs at the clinic, but it was…” Eric trailed off. “All those failed treatments. It was a lot, you know? Every time the surrogate called to say the test was negative, or every time she couldn’t carry past the first few weeks. I mean, I wouldn’t trade Alice for the world, but…”

“I know,” Alicia said, and dropped her hand away. “I don’t mean to pressure you. Just…the two of you seem so happy.”

Eric’s eyes drifted across the garden to where Jack was talking with Bob and Lardo near the grill. A moment later, Alice popped up, throwing herself at Jack with a loud, “Papa, fly me!” and he caught her, spinning her away from the burning hot coals. Dizzy, she stumbled over to Lardo who then picked her up and walked her to Jess who was lounging in a chair near a small, inflatable pool.

“We are,” Eric said after a long while. “We’re thinking about our other options. Adoption, mostly. But neither of us are much in a hurry. Jack’s still in love with being able to ramble on about history to students who are paying to hear him, and he still gets to play all the hockey he wants, and…” Eric trailed off. “And I like being at home with our baby, and not having to worry what the future will be like. It’s hard to want to disrupt that.”

Alicia smiled. “I get it. Trust me. When Jack was born, I knew that was it for us. Our family was complete.”

Eric bit his lip, then smiled. “I’m not sure if we’re there yet, but even if we never do, I couldn’t be happier.”

Alicia leant over and kissed his cheek. “I’m so glad, sweetheart. Now I’m going to see if anyone needs help in the kitchen. And by that, I mean pour myself another glass of wine and try to look busy.”

Eric laughed and waved her off, and just as she went inside, Jack walked over to settle down next to his husband. Their hands linked between them, and Jack brought the back of Eric’s knuckles up to his lips. 

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hey,” Jack said, and kissed Eric’s hand again. “What were you two talking about?”

“Oh just your mother’s not-so-subtle questions about whether or not we’re giving her another grandbaby.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “And what did you tell her?”

“That we’re not sure yet, but we’re not rushing. Because we’re happy just the way we are.”

Jack smiled, his gaze tracking Alice across the yard who was being followed by Horus. “I guess we are, aren’t we?”

Eric leant into him, kissing him on the underside of his jaw. “Couldn’t be happier,” he said.

Jack squeezed their hands together, and Eric closed his eyes, feeling the utter peace of just existing with his child running in the yard, and the love of his life tucked up against his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End. <3 <3
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me. ILY all so much.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me on tumblr [angryspace-ravenclaw](https://angryspace-ravenclaw.tumblr.com)
> 
> Side note- this fic will not have disability angst, inspiration porn, or able-bodied saviours, so please don't expect THAT style of hurt/comfort. 
> 
> I will try to update once a week, but I have a massive paper due for my (frankly absurd decision to go back to) grad school so July is a bit busy for me. But I get to use fic updates for research and writing rewards so YAY! Hopefully I won't procrastinate so we can all benefit in fic.


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